This is how I drink when my family is not around: not at all. Last night I opened a bottle of beer, drank a few sips, realized I didn't want it, and poured it into the cyclamen. Who wants a foggy head when you get to spend the evening on the sofa in a TOTALLY SILENT HOUSE watching In Treatment DVDs, one after the other, until you realize you loathe every single character, most especially Melissa George and Embeth Davidtz? No one. Bliss. I would have made a great spinster.
But without my family, I've had no one to cook for, no one to inspire and aggravate me into writing my blog, hence the inactivity.
My children and husband are on the New England seashore eating lobster rolls and french fries. They sent me a picture:
He comes back tonight, but the children will stay for a month with their grandparents and cousins, an annual tradition they look forward to for the other 11 months of the year. As do I -- almost as eagerly as I start looking forward to their return a week or so after leave. I won't be cooking much from Stir until they get back, though I did make Barbara Lynch's citrus cured salmon, which is rich beyond belief. More on that irresistible, sickening salmon later.
In other news, here's my review of Allegra Goodman's new novel The Cookbook Collector which wasn't really about collecting cookbooks. I was sorry about that. While I thoroughly enjoyed this book, I also completely agree with this amusing review by a critic who didn't.