Eastside Road, February 25, 2011—
WHERE'D YOU GET THAT recipe, Lindsey? 
Umbria is not my favorite region of Italy; I don't know why. Our one traversal revealed it as dark, as you'd etymologically expect, and wrinkled. The highlight was seeing fireflies in an Urbino park; that, and the view from up there, down out and over the incredible plain where lentils no doubt grew.
It is a delicious dish; I hope the notepaper will be kept somewhere handy. Green salad after.
Zinfandel, Trader Joe's "Coastal," 2009 (a little dumb and flat, but not disgusting)
4 comments:
Charles:
The world is full of cookbooks, but whither all your careful, meticulous recordation of fare?
What form do you see--if any--for your grand account of these past few years of professional "eating"?
Certainly it's not a gift of idle hours. What is your plan?
A Gift of Idle Hours: what a fine title, reminding me of Les très belles heures. I could use it for the remaining days of my life.
I see no other form than that evolving here, and I'm happy if anyone finds anything useful, or diverting…
"The gift of idle hours" comes from Robert Frost.
A worthy coinage.
I would implore you to think about what purpose your ruminations might be put.
Surely your descendants will find it edifying, but what about everyone else?
Ah yes, Frost. I read that poem some time ago.
Et in academia ego, you know; I was an English major at UC Berkeley too. I rejected Frost then, and do now, as hokey and inaccurate (or is that redundant). Labor has many dreams beyond those of fact.
But you ask about my "purpose": I have none. I idle away the hours, pre-empting gift. Surely this describes most blogging, certainly mine; probably yours — for I read yours, Curtis, as you know.
Post a Comment