Y'all, I am so tired I hardly know my name. This morning, Jack asked me what week of September we're currently in, and I just looked at him blankly, as if he'd asked me to solve an ancient theoretical physics problem backwards and in Russian. "Jack," I said, "I'm sorry but at present, that question is entirely too challenging for me." I did manage to grab hold of a slight second wind yesterday afternoon and put together a Tuscan-inspired dinner of caprese salad (love the Mardi Gras hues!) and schiacciata con l'uva. The pic of the bread is pre-cook and definitely leaves something to be desired, but I'm just impressed that I put a homemade dinner on the table last night.
It may have been typical Em-i-lis Type-A overreaching, but before leaving for Florence, I committed to catering a dinner party for 25 this Thursday night. Oh mon dieu. Three beautiful leek confit and aged goat cheese tarts, a tray of tea sandwiches and two chocolate-almond cakes. Now channeling the Little Engine That Could on crack, "I know I can and must."