Yet again, I find myself wondering if weatherpeople nationwide needed a boost, a hint of excitement that just cannot be derived from doppler radar. The storm that slapped the Midwest yesterday (interestingly, none of my friends there reported school-closings) has arrived on the East Coast. I think. I can't speak for the suburbs, but all we've accumulated is a vague muddy slush in our yard and snow-plows idling with ennui on the streets. In the five minutes of earnest come-down we did receive, I went outside and stood my wiper blades up like sentinels, just in case; presently, they look a bit silly.
The boys and I have played Twister, Sleeping Queens and Spanish Bingo, have watched an entire season of Super Friends, they're pretending to be devoured by the quicksand of death right now, and I just finished up a slow-roasted cauliflower, leek and prune dish scented with cinnamon, cardamom, garlic and pimentón because all that just sounded good and comforting. I roasted some almonds, chopped and tossed them in for a bit of crunch. I might eat this warm but I might let it come to room temperature and eat it alongside some ricotta.
Do you know what I MUST make and eat soon? Melissa Clark's recipe in today's NY Times Dining: Pecorino Fried Bread with Broccoli. What? That sounds off the hook ridiculous.