I’m behind. I know this. But I’ve got a litany of excuses so phenomenal you’ll want to steal them for yourselves. Honestly. Here is a day-by-day breakdown of my last few days. Read, and then call me a brave girl. I never tire of the praise.
Friday: Valentine’s Day. Valentine’s day was Saturday, you say? WRONG. And I’ll explain the depth and breadth of your wrongness momentarily. For Valentine’s Day, Chris got me an AeroGarden. I’m growing herbs in it as we speak, and they’re all doing spectacularly, except for the dill. The dill has failed to come in entirely, making a very strong case for replacing its spot with “the pot.” The light that is attached to the AeroGarden is approximately 2.4 million watts. There are people in neighboring states who look at their windows in the evening and say things like “Mighty bright out tonight, Phyllis. Must be a full moon.” But it’s NOT a full moon, it’s just my AeroGarden. And soon, my pot farm.
I got Chris an apron with a robot on it (nothin’ says lovin’ like a robot apron). I also made him dinner, and I really think I outdid my own sense of adventure and romance with it. I seared a dry-aged ribeye in a cast iron skillet, then caramelized some sweet onions in the same skillet til they were dark and sweet and deep like molasses, or perhaps Denzel Washington. I made a homemade black truffle and Plugra butter to top the steak, which was at least AS GOOD as giving Chris a night with a pair of 21 year old Norwegian stripper twins. There’s a bunch leftover, and I’m thinking of putting it on a savory waffle. You know how I get. In a fit of “I run with gangs and do what I WANT” I went all kinds of rogue with the potatoes. I parboiled some russets, made a marinade of German spicy brown mustard, olive oil, and cayenne pepper, and tossed them in the marinade. I removed them and wrapped them with a spectacular Black Forest ham sliced wafer-thin, then put them under the broiler to crisp. Taaaasty. There was a salad of some sort to ward off vitamin deficiencies, but I don’t really care about it. Now…dessert. OH. EM. EFF. GEE. Comice pears poached in Chambord and pinot noir, both dark and white chocolate mascarpone creams, dark chocolate ganache, and then the poaching liquid got reduced to an intense, raspberry-y syrup.
Gah. So good. We drank some champagne and went to bed with full bellies and probably some poaching liquid in our hair.
Saturday: We drove up to Austin, met some friends for lunch at Austin Java (Katina, thanks again for the gorgeous farm-to-table goodies!), went to an expo, and then drove over to the Taj Mahal of groceries. The Great Barrier Reef of variety and wonderment. The Crayola box of color and description. The Austin flagship Whole Foods. I have never, in my life, seen anything that inspired such awe in me. I went to D.C. when I was in 5th grade, and I stood at the foot of the Washington monument, and I would rate that as a 5 on the scale of being completely humbled by the awesomeness of a structure, since now the Austin WhoFo sets the mark as a 10. There were entire BARS dedicated to roasted nuts. I got two kinds of fudge. There was a WALL OF CHEESE. The produce was all blemish-free and vibrant, tumbling down in plexi-glass containers that were color-coded in order, making it look like an granola leprechaun shit out an entire rainbow of organic produce. I was shaking. I didn’t get to spend near the time I wanted to, though, because we had to drive back home to San Antonio and go to bed early. Because we had to be back in Austin on Sunday at 5 a.m.
Sunday: We arrived in downtown Austin at about 5:45 after an animated discussion about whether or not I make us perpetually late, or if maybe Chris needs to stop being so frantic about leaving the house earlier than necessary. Our senses of humor are slightly more fragile at 4:30 a.m. We trudged after herds of people, shivering in the cold wearing shorts, in order to RUN THE AUSTIN MARATHON. That’s right. I’m done, for now. I went from being a…curvy girl, we’ll say, whose most major physical achievement on any given day was unwrapping Dove chocolates, to running two marathons in less than three months. I am pretty freakin’ proud. What’s more, this was a WAY more challenging course (crazy elevation gains meant that at some points we were actually running directly up, elevator style, followed by knee-jarring sprints down hills that would have made an intimidating ride at a water park). And we ran it in less time than the San Antonio, which was considered a very easy beginner course. And two days later? I’m not even sore. And I still have zero abdominal definition (unless you count visible Krispy Kreme as “definition.”). So, how lame is that? Shouldn’t you get abs after 2 marathons? Probably not. I eat a lot of fried food. But I’m all better now, except for my kneecaps, which may or may not fall off soon. We came home, and I ate an entire pint of Haagen-Dasz Extra Rich light Dulce de Leche ice cream. Very healing, it turns out.
Monday: Recovery. And observance of MLK Jr day, via going to Barnes and Noble.
Tuesday: School. Knees hurt. I made a Thai beef salad of sorts. Then I put it on naan bread.
Same continent, so piss off. It was great, although the naan bread got a little wet towards the end, which ended up being kind of a benny, because then I didn’t want to eat it. And everyone knows, denial of the things you enjoy=thin.
Oh, and I ordered duck fat, legs, breasts, and prosciutto from Hudson Valley Farms. You’ll be seeing more of that shortly.
Final thing–A late V-day present to us-from us was that a housekeeper came and cleaned my house today. My kitchen appliances are all sparkly and twinkly. I’m afraid to go make dinner.