Friday, June 7, 2013

Eating Every Day Undercover

My father keeps a daily blog, 'Eating Every Day' (he's far more disciplined than I am!) about his meals. I wrote a piece, years back, about it for Gourmet's online site. Since I live in a different state, I have long enjoyed being able to keep up with my parents, and even feel a bit as if I'm at their table.

Right now though, Dad is off climbing Mt. Whitney with my husband and son. And I'm sitting at his place at the table with Mom. Ok, actually, I'm sitting across from Mom. Somehow it didn't seem completely right, or even remotely possible, to take his place.

So here goes. Eating Day, undercover (which also isn't quite right--that should be Dad taking over my blog!).

I got here Wednesday, and apparently it was the perfect day to arrive. In terms of leftovers, I mean. There was some delicious grilled steak, and potato salad loaded with dill, along with a few artichokes and some lemon mayonnaise.


























(Here's Dad's post about that steak and potato salad's first day)

At my parents', there is always salad after dinner. We also have salad after dinner every night. But Mom and Dad really have salad every night. Mom mixed it with walnut oil and some quince vinegar a friend had made.

The day before I flew down, Mom had posted a picture of a cherry pie on facebook. I commented that I hoped there were leftovers. And there were. Lucky, lucky me. At this point, I have to say I feel a little guilty enjoying the last of the pie. While I think about the freeze dried dinners Dad is eating on the mountain. But it would be ungrateful to let let that guilt get in the way of enjoying my pie. So I didn't wallow in guilt.



Thursday morning, after eating a half an apricot that was dripping in syrup, Mom asked me to pick out some jam for our breakfast.


It's always a daunting choice here, with everything from the pear marmalade of my childhood and apricot jam (always with a pit or two for flavor) to exotic citrus marmalades. Today the choice was dictated by the jar. Mom's refrigerator is, as nearly always, overflowing with intriguing bits and pieces. So I needed to pick a jar of jam that would fit nicely into the refrigerator.

That was an easy call: Plum butter. I do love plums. And a bonus--it was in a Kerr jar, and I had just read an article about Albertina Kerr--I'd never put together the fact that Kerr was a Portland company.

Mom and I lazed away our day, so we didnt' eat lunch, back at home, until 4 PM. An efficient afternoon of eating--lunch, think about waht to have for dinner, then dinner. And what did we have? Lunch was some slices of salami from Diavolo, bread, carrots, and an apple.

For dinner we had the last of that delicious potato salad, along with a vegetable saute. Green garlic, a few of Dad's purple potatoes, peas, and some summer squash.


Dessert two days in a row! Mom made an apricot cake.


Since I'm writing this Friday morning, I might as well show you my breakfast today too. Yesterday, while we were poking around Healdsburg, I splurged and bought myself a quart of St. Benoit Jersey milk (I also got some of their plum yogurt to try soon). You should have seen the plug of cream on the top. Heated for my coffee, it looked as if there were bits of butter floating on the surface.

As I sliced bread for our toast (Como from Downtown Bakery), Mom said we had to eat the apricots. Sigh.


It's a hard life, and I'm glad I can help out by filling in for Dad.

2 comments:

steve crumley said...

Psst G.,
Don't forget the year, origin and producer of the wines you had with that beautiful steak! (At least the providence of the water.) --Steve

Giovanna said...

Sigh, you're right, of course, Steve. The sad fact is you've spotted one of my shortcomings.

Though I can tell you the water came from the jug in the pantry. Which means filling a cup, and halfway through, stopping to wave my arms around like a crazy person because the motion-activated-light has gone off.

Hopefully that digression on water fetching in my parents' pantry distracted you from my sad wine failures.

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