A macabre ballet

I walked into Oliver's room to place some clean laundry on his bed and then looked over at the fish tank. The newest Lightning Strike arced to the gravelly bed without ability or will to stop his fall. He'd happened into the filter's outflow and was pushed down forcefully, bouncing onto and off of the bridge before coming to rest on the bottom. 

My heart clenched at the sight of his pending death. Guppy2 was frantically swimming around Lightning Strike, under and over, trying to prop him up, urge him to live. It was a beautiful display of concern really, and I don't think I'm anthropomorphizing. They danced, life and death entwined, and I sat there sadly rapt.

Darth Fishious and the neon tetra whose name no one can remember hid, one behind the thermometer and the other in the cave. Perhaps it was all too much to bear. Perhaps they know that Guppy2 and LS2 are buddies and wanted to give them space.

The phone rang, and I tore myself away, breathing deeply to center myself before the scheduled call. Afterwards, I returned to Ol's room and saw LS2 nestled in the heart of a plant; the filter must have directed him there when he last happened into its stream. He looked peaceful, gills moving but almost imperceptibly. A fun fluttered and then rested on his body. Gupp2 prodded LS2 with his snout as if begging him to wake. LS2 rallied, but I know the end is coming soon.

We have what seems to be a statistically improbable mortality rate in that tank. I'm going to get the water tested and the plant leaves assessed for I see a grim black fur starting to grow on them. In the meantime, I'm really very touched by the apparent bond between Gup2 and LS2.

All the things we don't know, we might start to understand as we watch a sad ballet. 

A walk's findings

I love this ancient hydrant and its many layers of paint and patina.

Short Ribs & Pie

I woke up yesterday morning with a serious hankering for braised short ribs. Beef short ribs, slowly cooked in a medium oven until the flat bones slip out on their own.

For a once-vegetarian, committed for so many years, the simple pleasure I take in the hollow sound made by clapping loosed ribs together surprises me every time. I am both amused and taken aback; just what happened to render me able to embrace meat again?

Pregnancy and childbirth, surely. But after that immediate bloodlust was sated, my carnivorous appetite remained. Since, I've educated myself about eating meat responsibly and humanely, and I still don't eat baby animals or offal.

short ribs: waiting to be browned, and definitely so

Short ribs are, quite possibly, my favorite cut of red meat. I love the way they remain firm but in a falling apart by the very strand sort of way. The flavor is spectacular but not so strong that it can't accommodate various seasonings.

My preferred recipe for short ribs is this ragu from a Food52 cook. She serves it atop polenta, but I never do, not least because T is not a corn-product kind of guy. Cornbread, grits, cornmeal in most ways...it's not his bag. So, I spoon this ragu atop pappardelle, made with eggs please, and then grate Parmesan generously over the top. 

short rib ragu with pappardelle

The recipe takes a while but, like my meatballs, is worth every minute of labor. Make the whole amount, or double it, and you've got plenty for a crowd or your freezer. And your house will smell to the nines, so make sure someone comes over to inhale deeply and sigh contentedly.

I always intend to make a green salad to go alongside. Half the time I do, but the rest of the time I forget or am too tired to carry through with the plan. No problem. Do or do not.

A fruit pie is the perfect finish for a hearty meal like this one. Strawberry-rhubarb is nice because its tang (and, if you make it, my salty, oil-based crust) counters and cuts the richness of the beef and noodles. Its color is also a nice compliment to the earth tones of all you just downed.

Leftover pie makes a hell of a breakfast, too.