I suck at football. Like suuuuuuuuck. Which I don’t understand, because I was really good when I played college intramural. But today, I stayed after school to play 3-on-3, and it was a spectacle. I think the main difference is that in college, I was one of two girls on an all-hot-guy team of 12, and our only job was to rush up the middle. I was the blitzer. And I was good at being the blitzer. Despite being touch football, it was somehow within regulations to shoulder check the people around the quarterback to get to him. And that was a lot of fun, since I am absurdly tall and overtly aggressive. But today I was expected to run around in circles, and on more than one play, actually CATCH the ball. A ball that was being hurled at me with (I felt) needless force. And the pointy end on a football is kind of menacing to the female body. I wanted to (and probably did) just cower and cover my chest and plead to God “notinthetitsnotinthetitsnotinthetits. Pleeeeeease not in the tits.” I don’t remember being afraid of the ball in college, likely because nobody ever had the misjudgment to throw the ball at me. Also, I felt our 3-on-3 was lacking in physicality.
It was good exercise, though. The heat and humidity are starting to get out of control down here, meaning summer is arriving, meaning it’s time to practice on my ass-baring skills so that the Terminix guy hangs out close enough to our house that he can come stomp on any ant that might wander into our home. And I have to start doing the dishes before bed each night, instead of waiting until morning because I am a lazy woman when my belly is full.
Last night, I made a kick-ass blackberry ice cream out of some of those fresh berries I’m hoarding. It was fantabulous, all creamy and fresh and slightly tart. I served it with a blackberry coulis, chocolate sauce, and whipped cream. And if you want me to be totally straightforward with you, the ice cream and coulis were homemade, but the chocolate sauce was Hershey’s sugar-free and the whipped cream was Reddi-whip fat-free. I keep those in the house for occasional chocolate milk binges and Jell-O toppings, respectively. But despite the couple of bastardized garnishes, the whole product turned out fabulously creamy, rich, and fresh.
I’ve been busy in garde manger class, too. The other day we learned how to pull mozzarella, so the big “reveal” I promised is as follows: I made homemade mozzarella at my house. And I know to many this isn’t a big deal, but it was really fantastically cool for me. I got some curd from our local gourmet foods store, heated it in a salt bath, pulled it into rounds, dropped it in a cold bath, and then pulled it immediately to slice. The thing about fresh mozzarella, one that’s never been refrigerated, is that it is unlike anything I’ve ever had. It’s got that great string-cheese consistency in the first 1/2 inch, but more creamy. Like butter and fresh cream crawled their way into your string cheese. And then the center is soft. Not soft like brie, but soft like pizza cheese, a little. And still warm and buttery. Out of this world. Those of you who haven’t pulled your own mozzarella should try it.
I didn’t want to adulterate the flavor of the mozz too much, so I just made a light bruschetta tray of sorts for dinner.
Black pepper and prosciutto ficelle (a very thin baguette), both yellow and red sweet tomatoes cut into thick slices, fresh basil from the pot-garden, juicy cantaloupe, fresh mozzarella, duck prosciutto, and a drizzle of 15 year balsamic, followed by a drizzle of extra-virgin olive oil. So pure and fruity, it really hit all of the spots. Creamy mozzarella, acidic tomatoes, salty bread, rich duck prosciutto, sweet cantaloupe…it’s really enough to get a girl excited for spring.
And spring should be about one day long, after which comes summer, at which point I will be physically engulfed in flames, just trying to get from my car to the entrance of the grocery store. Lame.