Cauliflower and Brené

So the other day at the store, I about fell out when I saw fresh Hatch chiles just sitting there waiting to be purchased. I can never find Hatch chiles in DC; they're like the Halley's Comet of eastern seaboard produce. 

In any case, next to the chiles were the most spectacular heads of cauliflower. Each one looked like a pearly white bowling ball was nestled in elephantine green leaves. "Fall's a'comin, shoppers!" I swear I heard one call. And so I bought it too. Also some sharp cheddar because Hatch chiles like cheddar and so does my husband.

Although my Tuesday, school's-in-session adrenaline had worn out by early evening, I was hellbent on combining my three delicious foodstuffs into one dish and so made a casserole, the added bonus being I got to unearth and use a lovely dish I rarely employ.

I roasted the peppers on the grill, blanched the cauliflower florets, shredded the cheese, and made buttery-garlicky breadcrumbs from a stale baguette. Happily and knowingly, I tossed things together, layered it into my buttered dish, sprinkled parsley everywhere and generously and baked.

roasted chile skins

Tom walked in as I took it out of the oven, and said, "Now honey, that does not look like anything I would like." True enough as he dislikes cauliflower and peppers, but I told him he best get started on his own dinner then. #amiright?

Naturally I neglected to take a photo of the finished product, but really, it was ugly as sin anyway, so who cares. Casseroles are often unattractive but equally as often, their looks are inversely proportional to their flavor.

I'm just back from hearing Brené Brown present her new book, Rising Strong, and have gone from dress to PJs to last bowl of cauliflower cha-cha in short order. T may not have cottoned to this dish, but it fed me for three really hectic days, so I'll take the short cut, thank you. I think Brené, a 5th-generation Texan who is awesomely funny and authentic and utterly devoid of bullshit, would enjoy it too, and you can bet I'd love to sit with her around my table and laugh, laugh, laugh while keeping it real.

Outstanding carbs needed to enable our limp across the line

We have fortified ourselves with extremely satisfying dishes of pasta and grits and bread throughout the past few days as we've limped towards the finish line that I feel we just crossed by closing two tired boys' bedroom doors.

The time has come, the bags are packed and T and I are wiping the sweat from our brows.

Amen, friends. We are back to school!

A few nights back, we had pappardelle with corn, fresh herbs and ricotta. Then came my springtime shrimp and grits, and last night the grand prize: my pasta with caramelized shallots, Brussels sprouts and speck.

Of.the.gods. Tonight, carb-fest continued as we grilled pizzas and called it a day. I am going to throw myself in my bed right now and read away my sadness at having finished All the Light We Cannot See by jumping into The Girl in the Spider's Web, the fourth installment of Stieg Larsson's Millennium trilogy (The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo et al) though, naturally since Larsson is now dead, written by someone else.

In the Spider's Web, David Lagercrantz, also a Swedish journalist and writer, takes the helm of leading us back into the labyrinthine world of Lisbeth Salander and Mikael Blomkvist. Nervous but hopeful that this one is a honorable follow-up to the original, thrilling, enticing series.

Mahgah

I just gave Percy a dental bone. He feels these every-few-days treats are the ultimate win, and so plays a sweet game of hiding them from himself until his anticipation is so great that he "finds" and happily devours it.

Right now, he's in the hide phase; I know because I get to sleep in the basement tonight and can hear Percy's long-claw paws prancing excitedly on the floor above. I hear the bone drop on occasion. It's then picked up and ferried to the next hiding spot. Soon he'll claim his prize. 

Bless his simple heart. 

This morning, I donned a dress, saw writer-group friends, laughed happily and welcomed the boys home. 

Lisa, me, Kristi

I made another plum tart because I surely didn't want to compost abandoned Italian plums but also I finished the last one yesterday and need to get my fill before plum season 2015 ends.  

Something is/might be seriously wrong with me.

I am, admittedly, in the thick of my annual p.t. obsession, but this year realize that it coincides neatly with the boys still being home on summer break.  

Interesting. If by interesting I mean, duh; I'm stress-cooking to beat sixty.  

Many a friend contacted me today, secretly and front-door-gone openly, about having also cried yesterday and/or feeling equally desperate for their offspring to go the eff back to the village known as school. 

Three more days, friends. Three.more.days. Would anyone care if I spent the next few like this? 

In the meantime, I'm going to attempt to excise the following tunes from the jingle-lovin' bit of my brain:

•A Pug and a Patty (an original by Oliver; about Percy stealing a chicken patty); 

•The (stupid fucking) Gummy Bear song;

•"Nothing's Gonna Stop Us Now" by Jefferson Starship which A) never gets old but B) is tough to excise and sometimes you want just that and C) played a fantastic supporting role in The Skeleton Twins which A) made me love Bill Hader even more (um, Stefon!) and B) was poignant in the ways those sorts of films usually try but fail to be.