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I gave my love a cherry that had no stone
My poem "Crossing the Line," which is about and dedicated to my mother, is now online at Goblin Fruit. Hello, internet publication!
From a recipe salvaged from one of the numberless back issues of Gourmet that were recently put out for recycling, my father and I made negimaki—like sushi, only with scallions and flank steak—last night. They were delicious. We couldn't find mirin for the marinade in the local liquor store, but that was the only hitch. Pounding the flank steak to a thickness of one-sixteenth of an inch was also peculiarly therapeutic. Our house smelled like a Japanese restaurant until this morning, when my mother made pear cake.
I had spam today from Jove Scroggins.
From a recipe salvaged from one of the numberless back issues of Gourmet that were recently put out for recycling, my father and I made negimaki—like sushi, only with scallions and flank steak—last night. They were delicious. We couldn't find mirin for the marinade in the local liquor store, but that was the only hitch. Pounding the flank steak to a thickness of one-sixteenth of an inch was also peculiarly therapeutic. Our house smelled like a Japanese restaurant until this morning, when my mother made pear cake.
I had spam today from Jove Scroggins.
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The negimaki sounds lovely, as does the house-smelling-like-a-Japanese-restaurant, as does the pear cake.