Wednesday, July 25, 2012
We are not overly attentive gardeners. So I am especially thankful for the week+ long downpour that draped the South recently, particularly as our days are right back up in the high 90s now. Vegetables don't adore the high 90s (nor do I). Walking to the garden (our first vegetable garden) every few nights to see what we might snatch for dinner gives me so much pleasure and feels so entirely like how it is suppose to be. It being life. I don't offer that as a social comment as much as I do a personal one. One of the loveliest childhood memories I have is standing in the garden with my sister and my father, picking and eating vegetables. He, with a salt shaker in hand, would take the first bite of a cucumber for us, so that the next (inner fleshy) bite could soak up a sprinkling of salt. I can smell it. My little gardens for now are small, raised, and just precisely what we can manage. I hope that one day, they will be larger, something that we can stand in and amongst. With a salt shaker. How it is suppose to be.
Dinner. I made a pesto sauce for a homemade pizza crust, topped it with mozzarella and sliced tomatoes. I thinly sliced a few zucchinis and layered them onto a hot pan, thinly coated with my dad's olive oil, flipped a few times until a little crispy, then sprinkled with salt. And lemon. It was lovely with the pizza. The eggplant, was just sliced and brushed with oil, sprinkled with salt and dried out in a cooling (from the pizza) oven. It's stored in the fridge now waiting to become part of a pasta dish for tonight. Or maybe moussaka for tomorrow night.
Hello little dinner guest. Growing, beautiful, sweet, schmumkins of a puppy. The walk to the garden is a very nice opportunity for this one to practice not biting my ankles and not jumping on and scratching my legs. Though he practices not doing those things and doing those things with equal enthusiasm.