Weekend with the In-Laws

This weekend we hosted Anita and Alfonse for their first weekend in Maine. Everything was perfect--the weather, the food and especially the company. Classic lobster and corn dinner Thursday night to kick everything off; loup de mer roasted on fennel for Friday night accompanied by a garden salad and potatoes dug up from Jane's garden that very afternoon. The finale on Saturday was steamed mussels and pasta with zucchini, chard and shitake mushrooms.

We drank way too much wine--the bottle count for the weekend was embarrassing--cheered on Michael Phelps as he won his eighth gold medal and watched Usain Bolt cruise to his world record.

We hugged goodby on the dock with an awesome sunset in the background.

At Last...Gazpacho!

Liz and Giul, aka The Happy Couple, are here for the rest of the summmer! And they brought with them a huge cooler of goodies from the big city. My little refrigerator is overflowing with assorted cheeses, meats, olives and tasty bites, along with the left overs from last night's Indian dinner.

Best of all, they brought gorgeous, juicy and incredibly flavorful tomatoes. (We've been deprived here in Maine due to the unrelentingly soggy weather.) Which means I could make this summer's very first batch of gazpacho.

The recipe I use is ridiculously easy. I cut up about 4 tomatoes, a large cuke, a large pepper, a medium onion and a clove of garlic and whirl it all in the cuisinart. Pour into a bowl and add a small can of V8 juice, around a 1/4 cup of good olive oil, a little less of sherry vinegar, salt and pepper and, my special ingredient, smoked picante pimenton. Delicioso!

A Sunny Day

I went to bed last night with a golden moon shining into our bedroom. The moon was almost full and there were stars in the sky. It must have been over two weeks since I last saw the moon and then it was a sliver over the lake. All this time, behind the clouds and rain, the moon has been glowing.

This morning we woke up to a clear blue sky, no clouds, no rain, no thunder. It feels like the beginning of summer all over again.

Rainy Day Activity

Yesterday the weather was totally depressing--cold and rainy all day--I never got out of my robe or out of the house.

Today, Jane and I were so desperate to do something other than play poker that we decided to drive some 50 minutes to Portland in order to buy fish at Browne Trading Company. We did pick up three gorgeous loupe de mer and some baby artichokes for dinner tonight.

We had a yen for fried oysters so we went to Gilbert's Chowder House and sat at the counter opposite the bar. Food didn't make it but I thought the bar was kitschy.


I'm praying the sun comes out tomorrow.

A Typical Night in Otisfield, Maine

We celebrated Jacob's 28th birthday in fine style on the screened-in porch. His everloving Mom made him his favorite pasta, fettucine in cream sauce with prosciutto and peas--a proven artery clogger. His sister provided the decorations including the traditional pinata filled with candy, always a hit with Steve. His father, known far and wide as the Grillmeister--cooked the lamb chops to perfection. And yours truly made the sides--chard from the garden sauteed with hot pepper, garlic and anchovies and spicy, Indian chick peas. And let's not forget dessert, a homemade blueberry shortcake that looked kind of weird but tasted just fine.

A Rant

I live in a tropical rain forest but without the heat. Or maybe it's the Pacific Northwest or maybe its a mushroom factory in Kennett Square because it sure smells like it. It hasn't stopped raining for six days. The sheets are clammy; the towels never dry; I can't hang the wash. I go to bed with the rain and wake up to the rain. I don't believe it will ever stop.

Today we had about 2 hours of sun in the afternoon. I quickly threw on my sneakers and went out for a run before the next round of storms. Thank goodness I could avoid my daily trip to the gym where some punky and very angry 20 year old always seems to come when I am there and who insists on playing his own music--a disc of heinous rap music, the lyrics of which largely consist of fuck you, fuck you, fuck you interspersed with motherfucker all at full blast of course. I've asked him to turn the volume down or wait until I leave, but to no avail. He clearly thinks I am some annoying old bag and I can go fuck myself. Grrr.

You Can Never be Too Thin or Good Looking

Check out this truly bizarre article in today's Wall Street Journal.

The premise is that because Obama eats well, exercises regularly and is damm cool looking as a result he could make voters--especially slovenly, overweight and hopelessly out of shape voters i.e. the majority--uncomfortable and ultimately spell trouble for him at the polls. It will be interesting to see how the Republican attack dogs, the true axis of evil, twist this around.