Eastside Road, October 7, 2011—
NO PROBLEM, I SAID rashly; you go ahead and have a good time; I'll fix dinner. I was thinking of rib-eyes and such guy things, of course.
Good, she said; Thanks: there's hot dogs in the refrigerator, and buns. Oh well: there was a promising ball game on television tonight; hot dogs are indicated. When the time came I went out and picked some lettuce and made the vinaigrette; when she showed up I made the Martinis and got the condiments ready.
Since I wash the dishes, when I cook hot dogs I don't use the broiler: I just heat up a black iron frying pan and cook them dry, laying the split buns on top to warm. Amora yellow mustard; Heinz tomato catsup; Vlasic pickle relish. Don't let anyone tell you we never eat commercial products.
Sliced onion and a leaf of romaine on the bun. Green salad after, and Crane melon from the neighbor.
Syrah, Chateau de Voiture 2005, Unti vineyard (sound, mature, fine varietal — almost a Vieux Télégraphe! — nothing to suggest it might have been a noncommercial production. Thanks, John.
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