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We reeled off all of our hopes and dreams and made a list
Decades after encountering it for the first time in the pages of Mary Stewart's My Brother Michael (1959), I used a bottle of mavrodafne to substitute for port in a sauce of sweet cherries and thyme for pan-seared pork chops. The cork crumbled in the extraction and had to be strained out through paper towels in the absence of cheesecloth, but the wine itself was dessert-sweet and dark as a Homeric epithet and simmered down beautifully into the soft halves of cut cherries. After dinner, my mother and I released the newly hatched Stripey the First to the sunset.
In the glass it was nearly black in color, hardly red when held against a light. Its sweetness shocked me: the last comparable thing I had tasted was ice wine sometime before the last glaciation when I ate in restaurants.
The pork chops came out too photogenically not to take a picture.
A frame from the video my mother sent to my niece, who loves to be present for monarch hatchings. Two more of the caterpillars look about ready to chrysalis.
To my slowly accumulating collection of good bog stories, I add Katie McIvor's "We Bleed Water" (2022), which I discovered last night while catching up on the archives of Three-Lobed Burning Eye. I haven't played Riwhi Kenny's bog body, watching (2024), but I really approve of the concept. The car is in the shop for one of its headlights and I am very tired and did little until the late afternoon, but it has been definitely a nice weekend.
In the glass it was nearly black in color, hardly red when held against a light. Its sweetness shocked me: the last comparable thing I had tasted was ice wine sometime before the last glaciation when I ate in restaurants.
The pork chops came out too photogenically not to take a picture.
A frame from the video my mother sent to my niece, who loves to be present for monarch hatchings. Two more of the caterpillars look about ready to chrysalis.
To my slowly accumulating collection of good bog stories, I add Katie McIvor's "We Bleed Water" (2022), which I discovered last night while catching up on the archives of Three-Lobed Burning Eye. I haven't played Riwhi Kenny's bog body, watching (2024), but I really approve of the concept. The car is in the shop for one of its headlights and I am very tired and did little until the late afternoon, but it has been definitely a nice weekend.
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I did place the chops back in the sauce to simmer before serving! They were three boneless pork chops seasoned slightly with garlic salt and pepper and fried on both sides in oil for less than five minutes so as to be browned on the outside but still medium inside. Two cups of pitted and halved fresh cherries went into the pan with a half-teaspoon of dried thyme to cook until soft and the pan deglazed, after which I poured in the cup of mavrodafne and the whole thing simmered until it had reduced by half, which took somewhere between fifteen and thirty minutes. I cut two tablespoons of unsalted butter and stirred them in until the sauce was silky and, since the butter had come from the freezer, back to temperature. At that point the cherries were sumptuous, the chops went back in for about five minutes, and everything was decanted onto jasmine rice, which is what we had in the house.
Congratulations, Stripey the First! I've seen lots of monarchs around our milkweed but no caterpillars, this year
I'm sorry! We have been gathering them from eggs. Every time my mother or I see one, inside the leaf comes.
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I'm sorry!
It's okay! Having grown the milkweed, I'm happy to let nature just do its thing. (Laziness runs deep in me--I'm glad you and your mom are being more proactive)