The Ingre­di­ents of the Holiday

We are safe­ly home.  We have not slept, hoist­ed lug­gage, opened mail, unpacked, done laun­dry.  The usu­al.  Changed cred­it cards and mon­ey in wal­lets.  Yawned.

I have spent the day drag­ging, with John, the Christ­mas tree out of the liv­ing room and down two flights of stairs, a feat I com­pared, to my friend Alyssa, to drag­ging a pile of Pringles out of a tiny space with­out crunch­ing them.  Agony.  And the orna­ments.  Why so numerous?

We all took naps.  Then I opened the emp­ty, pris­tine refrig­er­a­tor and felt hungry.

Gee,” I said to myself, “Self, your jeans are tight.  Why would that be?”

The two choic­es seemed to be that they have smal­l­ened, or I had largened.  And it was but the work of a moment from that obser­va­tion to my own mem­o­ry of the sheer LIST of ingre­di­ents that marked our hol­i­day, for me to come to the obvi­ous con­clu­sions: food is GOOD.

I thought, just for fun, I’d list what I remem­ber buy­ing and cook­ing.  This will help me in my quest to fit into my jeans, as well as pro­vid­ing a VERY hap­py gas­tro­nom­ic mem­o­ry of my hol­i­day.  And onward to a bit more restraint!

THE LIST (as I would shop it if I were at Stop ‘N Shop in my town in Connecticut)

shrimp to stir fry

had­dock to fry

oys­ters for stew

duck legs for cassoulet

pork bel­ly for cassoulet

pork ten­der­loin for roast

lamb shoul­der for cassoulet

pork sausage for Christ­mas morn­ing, and for cassoulet

beef ten­der­loin to grill

buf­fa­lo mince for chilli

whole chick­en to roast

chick­en parts to bake

count­less eggs to scram­ble for break­fast or a mid­night snack

beets to roast

cau­li­flower to roast

but­ter­nut squash to roast

fen­nel to roast

car­rots to roast

aspara­gus to saute

cel­ery and onions, sage and mush­rooms for stuffing

pars­ley, cilantro, basil, tar­ragon for garnish

broc­coli to steam

spinach to cream

red pep­pers to make into soup

mush­rooms to make into duxelles

toma­toes, avo­ca­do, red onion, basil for salad

gar­lic to roast

green beans to saute

pota­toes to mash, to grate with cheese, to steam for hash

straw­ber­ries, blue­ber­ries, black­ber­ries, rasperries

mel­on

pears

apples and bananas for cake

moz­zarel­la, goat cheese, ched­dar, feta, Parme­san, ricotta

home­made chick­en stocks, turkey stocks for soup

the olive oil, lemons, bal­sam­ic vine­gar, salt, pep­per, Fox Point, cel­ery salt, Ital­ian sea­son­ing, papri­ka, cumin, cayenne, chilli seasoning

chick­peas, black beans, red kid­ney beans, can­nelli­ni beans, Bel­u­ga lentils

pas­tas, toma­toes, pine nuts, Vod­ka for the occa­sion­al emer­gency pasta

**********

and Non­na’s Christ­mas cap­puc­ci­no, lime and savoury cheesy cook­ies as a garnish!

**************

I am quite sure I could set this all to music if I weren’t so… jet­lagged. Soon, I promise!  In the mean­time, a tiny bit of aus­ter­i­ty shall pre­vail.  Plus ten­nis… I hear rumors from John that indoor ten­nis is in our future.  More to come.  But in the mean­time, I’m tear­ing up that gro­cery list.  It only encour­ages me.

I am CER­TAIN that some­where, it’s bed­time.  So good night.

11 Responses

  1. Ace says:

    i must say for my own sake that i had just wok­en up in that par­tic­u­lar photo…

  2. kristen says:

    Speak­ing of which, go to sleep!

  3. Karen says:

    I am crack­ing up! My pants are tight, too, and I blamed it on my dry­er until I read your blog! Thanks for the real­i­ty check, Kris­ten! We are on a two-hr delay tomor­row and then it’s off to yoga for me…

  4. Rosie Jones says:

    Blimey love… How many meals were you away for? If you don’t man­age to shed it before, we’ll run it off in Pad­stow in between meals… and cock­tails and bison grass Vodka…

  5. Kristen says:

    Shock­ing, I know, my loves! It was three weeks of noth­ing but cook­ing and eat­ing, and very LIT­TLE exer­cise! Shock­ing. But even two days of nor­mal life is get­ting us back to nor­mal. Noth­ing shall keep me from bison grass Vod­ka, feel assured!

  6. Mom says:

    How I wish I had been at Red Gate Farm for all that good food! And for all your blog read­ers who have heard about your moth­er who always hat­ed to cook, but loved to eat your cook­ing, I’m still liv­ing on deli sand­wich­es and desserts when I’m not with you! Much love to the three of you and four cats.

  7. kristen says:

    Mom, I only wish I were there to cook for you! let’s see, scal­lops and shrimp and chick­en liv­ers, and… much love from all of us here.

  8. Sarah says:

    I knew I need­ed anoth­er word or two for my vocab­u­lary: Smal­l­ened, or more appro­pri­ate­ly, Largened. Brilliant!
    My enor­mous son came home from St. Peters­burg rav­en­ous for every­thing Amer­i­can: sun­light, fresh air, fruit, beef, a full fridge — plen­ty… and I indulged him. And I guess myself in the process. Good thing (??) he’s head­ed back to col­lege, tak­ing the rest of the dou­ble choco­late brown­ies with him…

  9. Kristen says:

    Sarah, Avery invent­ed “smal­l­ened” when a lit­tle girl and it is a very use­ful word!

    How won­der­ful to have those days to feed up your son… next will come spring break, I suppose!

  10. Bee says:

    Such a charm­ing post … I read it with a smile (of recog­ni­tion!) on my face. 

    Do you ever TIRE of food, though?
    Do you ever get to the point where only a plain baked pota­to, or a crisp apple, sounds good?

  11. kristen says:

    Some­times, Bee, but that moment NEV­ER lasts all the way till din­ner­time, sadly!

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