Sep. 23rd, 2009 04:03 pm
A bit of home
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muckefuckApologies to my fellow Chicagoans who are suffering ludicrous levels of humidity right now. This is pretty much exactly the weather I had on my last day in St Louis--and exactly the weather I would expect to have in St Louis--so I can only conclude I brought it back with me. Post hoc ergo prompter hoc. Is it any consolation that I'm sweltering along with you all? Equinox or not, summer is not ready to leave the stage quite yet.
My coworker's advice before I left was "Eat toasted ravioli." I got my chance at the party on Saturday--after downing a sauce-soaked pork steak. The next day at lunchtime, my mother revealed a cracker-like prepared crust, Provel cheese, and genuine Imo's sauce, which we assembled to produce authentic St Louis-style pizza. Throw in a visit to Ted Drewes' and my hometown food itches would've been well and truly scratched but, alas, there wasn't time for a detour. On the other hand, Friday night's pork chops were deglazed with genuine Missouri wine, which must count for something.
I'm most pleased with myself for coming back up with less than I brought down. I deliberately took along the smallest bag I could find that fit three changes of clothes; anytime someone tried to foist something on me (such as a housewarming present) I would hold it up and say, "It's gotta fit in here," thus effectively kiboshing the idea. The space left vacant by gift books for my nephews, sister, and father was more than ample for a copy of The Irish RM I'd gifted to my mother, but fortunately too scanty to include alongside it a hardbound copy of The name of the rose I'd inscribed to her in the year 1992.
ETA: And speaking of Missouri mementos, despite the fact that my house was situated in a swamp and hers on a hillside, I got more and more vicious mosquito bites in an hour of sitting on Mom's patio that I have in the entire summer up here. A week later, they've barely faded. Are the bugs really that much worse there or am I simply extra yummy on my native soil?
My coworker's advice before I left was "Eat toasted ravioli." I got my chance at the party on Saturday--after downing a sauce-soaked pork steak. The next day at lunchtime, my mother revealed a cracker-like prepared crust, Provel cheese, and genuine Imo's sauce, which we assembled to produce authentic St Louis-style pizza. Throw in a visit to Ted Drewes' and my hometown food itches would've been well and truly scratched but, alas, there wasn't time for a detour. On the other hand, Friday night's pork chops were deglazed with genuine Missouri wine, which must count for something.
I'm most pleased with myself for coming back up with less than I brought down. I deliberately took along the smallest bag I could find that fit three changes of clothes; anytime someone tried to foist something on me (such as a housewarming present) I would hold it up and say, "It's gotta fit in here," thus effectively kiboshing the idea. The space left vacant by gift books for my nephews, sister, and father was more than ample for a copy of The Irish RM I'd gifted to my mother, but fortunately too scanty to include alongside it a hardbound copy of The name of the rose I'd inscribed to her in the year 1992.
ETA: And speaking of Missouri mementos, despite the fact that my house was situated in a swamp and hers on a hillside, I got more and more vicious mosquito bites in an hour of sitting on Mom's patio that I have in the entire summer up here. A week later, they've barely faded. Are the bugs really that much worse there or am I simply extra yummy on my native soil?
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