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Aug. 18th, 2020 09:41 pm
One to remember
I've been meaning to do a writeup on how I spent the past weekend since--if my attempts to recall how I spent my birthday last year are any guide--I won't remember otherwise. Everything happened more-or-less as I outlined in my previous post: I lazed around on Saturday and managed to miss every single attempt to call and wish me a happy day but one. I think my family were holding off in order not to interrupt a nap and then from about 4 p.m. until midnight, I was basically continually socialising.
It was a lovely lovely day to be out in JB's back four. We spent a languid couple hours on the deck listening to the wind in the trees and the sounds of our own voices while sipping sparkling wine and eating zesty orange-banana cupcakes. The weather predicted thunderstorms, but apparently the line broke and they went to the south and the north. As the first drops fell, Big Red and I hustled into a car driven by JB's husband, who brought us back to my place, but they never amounted to anything more. To my surprise, I found the whole porch decked out in blue and yellow streamers and suddenly Clint's impatience as I delayed my departure made sense.
I brought out the Missouri cheeses my brother had sent me and the cocktails paid for by a pal and distributed them among the five of us. Dr Balzac's Other Gay Friend came by and we got an appetiser of thin slices of grilled zucchini and salty ham rolled into roulades accompanied by leipäjuusto. For the main course, our chef had pureed the avocados he'd asked me for the day before and frozen them into squares, which he plated and covered with succotash before laying perfectly cooked fillets of crispy-fried sockeye salmon (which I'd also given him) on top. The succotash was what really impressed me: I was like, "You peeled favas for me?" "Don't expect us to do it again!" shot back Dr Balzac.
I bummed bourbon off of them to make cocktails with the Amaro Sfumato Rabarbaro for me and Big Red. He was one of the last to leave, well after Clint had gone to bed, leaving just me, Dr B, and the OGF. I'd preempted a contentious political discussion by beginning a game of Categories shortly before my sister called and I picked up just as she and her kids were leaving a raucous rendition of Happy Birthday on my answering machine. Then came the OGF's stunning fresh fruit tart, which I insisted on Instagramming.
The odd thing to me in retrospect is how a few small tweaks--inviting a new person, going somewhere else for a bit--made the whole experience feel fresh. I've been hanging out with these folks on that porch on the regular for weeks now, and yet it all felt special. I really couldn't have asked for anything more than that.
It was a lovely lovely day to be out in JB's back four. We spent a languid couple hours on the deck listening to the wind in the trees and the sounds of our own voices while sipping sparkling wine and eating zesty orange-banana cupcakes. The weather predicted thunderstorms, but apparently the line broke and they went to the south and the north. As the first drops fell, Big Red and I hustled into a car driven by JB's husband, who brought us back to my place, but they never amounted to anything more. To my surprise, I found the whole porch decked out in blue and yellow streamers and suddenly Clint's impatience as I delayed my departure made sense.
I brought out the Missouri cheeses my brother had sent me and the cocktails paid for by a pal and distributed them among the five of us. Dr Balzac's Other Gay Friend came by and we got an appetiser of thin slices of grilled zucchini and salty ham rolled into roulades accompanied by leipäjuusto. For the main course, our chef had pureed the avocados he'd asked me for the day before and frozen them into squares, which he plated and covered with succotash before laying perfectly cooked fillets of crispy-fried sockeye salmon (which I'd also given him) on top. The succotash was what really impressed me: I was like, "You peeled favas for me?" "Don't expect us to do it again!" shot back Dr Balzac.
I bummed bourbon off of them to make cocktails with the Amaro Sfumato Rabarbaro for me and Big Red. He was one of the last to leave, well after Clint had gone to bed, leaving just me, Dr B, and the OGF. I'd preempted a contentious political discussion by beginning a game of Categories shortly before my sister called and I picked up just as she and her kids were leaving a raucous rendition of Happy Birthday on my answering machine. Then came the OGF's stunning fresh fruit tart, which I insisted on Instagramming.
The odd thing to me in retrospect is how a few small tweaks--inviting a new person, going somewhere else for a bit--made the whole experience feel fresh. I've been hanging out with these folks on that porch on the regular for weeks now, and yet it all felt special. I really couldn't have asked for anything more than that.
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