Over the hump, cooking!

I was teary on and off yesterday without the boys but today am on the mend and ready for this wonderful staycation. Though I grumbled a bit about fasting and scooting out early this morning for my doc appointment, she was fabulous, and I actually had a great time. It was as if we had been separated at birth or were best friends in a former life, so natural was our laughter and seemingly similar personalities. At the least, I am sure she won't tell me I've packed some on around my middle and to avoid the damn quiche, per the last physician. On my walk, yes walk! another plus!, home, I sensed a craving welling up inside me, and before I knew it, I had detoured to Wagshal's for Amish slab bacon, avocados, and arugula. I also bought some gorgeous figs and large quantities of chicken breasts. At this point it was 10:30 or so and keep in mind the fasting I'd had to do. Perhaps that explains the large amount of food I schlepped home. In any case, I knew I simply must have an avocado, bacon, tomato and arugula mayo sandwich on whole wheat sourdough, and so that will come to fruition soon. In the meantime, my hunger necessitated that I have some actual breakfast first so I devoured a rhubarb scone (learn to love your freezer, peeps!) and a coffee while poaching the figs.

Have you poached figs, using my recipe or another? I am always struck by how they stretch and expand in such a dramatically taut way while in the hot liquid, as if they received too large breast implants. The internal pressure from the heat and steam makes their skins shine, stretched like a perfectly smooth forehead, but they never quite burst although you're certain they will at any moment. And then as they cool, they deflate some, sinking back in on themselves, ready to be plunged back into the now-tepid syrup and enjoyed, with some ricotta, plain or in any other number of ways.

Now I'm off to make that sandwich...

Home, wonderful book for parents of boys

I read an entire book today and six chapters of a second. People, this has not happened for 6½ years, and Nora Ephron's Heartburn is absolutely fabulous. You should read it immediately. I could not and did not put it down, actually reading while walking through the airport at one point. And such laser-like reading was an excellent tool for avoiding eye contact with the extremely nice but out-of-control chatty guy in the middle seat next to me. Wow. His wife immediately went to sleep and he made cheese-tastic small talk at every opportunity except when he was eating Panda Express as if he were breaking a long-term fast. Oy!

I encountered such a wild array of folks today. First was the extremely small and seemingly quite irritated MIA mini-me: the hair, the glasses, the outfit, wow! Then there was the elderly business man with Louis Vuitton bags hanging from every appendage- in the outside pocket of his roller bag but in full view was a Glamour magazine. Interesting reading choice for this guy. And then there were the two passengers sitting in the row in front of me. Huge! Previously-unseen aggressive seat shifting and reclining. I swear to god I thought my face was going to get smashed in. Fortunately, they calmed down.

Who thinks Misty May's tramp stamp is super(!) big?! Wow! But she and Kerri are great!

T and I grilled paninis for dinner, and although I made the poor decision to schedule a fasting-required, new patient appointment with an internist tomorrow (recall my firing of the previous doc) for 8-flipping-am tomorrow, we are watching the Olympics and enjoying a nice bottle of red.

Oh, parents of boys, great book!

Phantom limb-like syndrome

It is unbelievable how light child-free travel is. About every five minutes, I feel certain I've dropped something critically important or left one of the boys on the plane. I have but one bag with me, and I've read six chapters in two different books. This is utterly surreal.I just ate lunch quietly at Cat Cora, enjoying a lovely edamame-avocado hummus with olives and pita. There were no spills, no small hands discovering old gum under the table and then putting those hands into their owner's mouth, no refrains of "please, please do not touch the potty seat" while also making sure I don't get sprayed by rogue pee (little Ol shoots at 2:00 which makes the stream's direction a bit random). But I also haven't had my legs attacked by a hug or my cheeks covered with kisses, and I feel the slightest bit teary in a vaguely schizo way: eager for this week alone, kinda lonesome for a little hand enveloped in mine. My heart aches some.