October 13, 2002

There's nothing like wearing an apron and flip-flops and patiently browning pieces of chicken in bacon fat while listening to Buck Owens to make you feel like all's right with the world.

I'm back on rice again, this time rice with crackling browned meat all finished in the oven in a lovely, glistening fatty melange. I'm alternating between chicken/seafood paella and a dish of roughly the same meat-rice equation, but with slowly browned Italian sausage, minus the saffron and the lobster stock. Nothing like perfectly browned meat to reaffirm the carnivore in you. And nothing like a little solo two-stepping (or maybe a six-step if I'm feeling saucy) from kitchen to living room to bathroom and back again, tossing in the odd fancy spin or turn, to remind you that happiness is pretty simple, really.

Kristi's coming into town this weekend, and so is Suzanne's sister Kelly. I'm thinking maybe a picnic supper and Young Frankenstein in the park on Friday. Then I'm hoping Saturday will start with garage sales and end with either an all-girls backyard barbecue or Mexican food and margaritas. And sleeping in late on Sunday with a late breakfast of Central Market scones and strong coffee.

10.02.02