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Since this weekend, I have been trying to make roast cherry tomato pasta. I have the ingredients. I have made abortive starts on this project twice, and really, it is not a complicated project. The time consuming part is slicing three pints of cherry tomatoes in half from pole to pole, after that, it's all pretty minor. It turns out, it's really hard to take a knife to all those little tomatoes while a small child bounces around and demands to be held/ played catch with/ swung in the air by his ankles.
Child is, incidentally, hypothetically ill, which is to say that he did some spectacular puking at daycare yesterday and got himself sent home. We stopped at the grocery store for Pediasure on the way, and he asked for an apple, which stayed down just fine. So did his dinner (pasta, consumed one bite at a time in pauses between laps around the dinner table). So did two slices of whole wheat bread, and his goodnight yogurt. Child and I had a long conversation about how gastrointestinal rest means that Mama won't give you pickles, AND UNCLE JESSE WILL NOT GIVE YOU PICKLES EITHER. He was a bouncy bubbly terror to the cats all evening, and reigned in his campaign to construct magnetic toy armeggedon (stymied by parental refusal to hand over all the magnetic toys) just long enough to watch the opening credits of his bedtime episode of Buffy. Had they not sent laundry home with him, I would disbelieve the entire story about puking, but the laundry is undeniably puked upon. Maybe some other kid threw up *on* him.
I am having trouble with the concept of facing the New Year without some kind of party food. This is the time of year to sit back with a plate of gougeres and a glass of oaky red wine. And I don't even LIKE oaky red wine, usually. I like my wines to be fruity, generally. This is the time of year for stuffed mushrooms, this is the time of year to get off one's butt and make latkes already. My morale requires it.
Tonight, I will make cherry tomato pasta. Really. Dangit. And try and figure out a way to make stuffed mushrooms for New Year's Day more or less ahead, or possibly with help from my mother at her house.
Child is, incidentally, hypothetically ill, which is to say that he did some spectacular puking at daycare yesterday and got himself sent home. We stopped at the grocery store for Pediasure on the way, and he asked for an apple, which stayed down just fine. So did his dinner (pasta, consumed one bite at a time in pauses between laps around the dinner table). So did two slices of whole wheat bread, and his goodnight yogurt. Child and I had a long conversation about how gastrointestinal rest means that Mama won't give you pickles, AND UNCLE JESSE WILL NOT GIVE YOU PICKLES EITHER. He was a bouncy bubbly terror to the cats all evening, and reigned in his campaign to construct magnetic toy armeggedon (stymied by parental refusal to hand over all the magnetic toys) just long enough to watch the opening credits of his bedtime episode of Buffy. Had they not sent laundry home with him, I would disbelieve the entire story about puking, but the laundry is undeniably puked upon. Maybe some other kid threw up *on* him.
I am having trouble with the concept of facing the New Year without some kind of party food. This is the time of year to sit back with a plate of gougeres and a glass of oaky red wine. And I don't even LIKE oaky red wine, usually. I like my wines to be fruity, generally. This is the time of year for stuffed mushrooms, this is the time of year to get off one's butt and make latkes already. My morale requires it.
Tonight, I will make cherry tomato pasta. Really. Dangit. And try and figure out a way to make stuffed mushrooms for New Year's Day more or less ahead, or possibly with help from my mother at her house.
