It's 5 o'clock somewhere

Recipe testers

I turned a new age yesterday. My grandmother forbade me to say the number because no lady should ever say her age until she's in her 90s. So I'll just say this: I'm halfway to 90.  My thoughtful husband bought me a little key chain with recordings of Sarah Palin (halfway to 94) saying "In what respect, Charlie?" and "We eat therefore we hunt." My sister gave me some hollowed-out eggs on which she had painted detailed portraits of our chickens and which she is turning into a mobile. (Photo tk of fabulous artwork upon completion.) My father gave me old-fashioned cocktail glasses. My kids gave me. . . nothing?! Can that possibly be? I received many birthday messages on Facebook from people I've known at different phases in my life and I have to say, despite mixed feelings about Facebook, this made me very, very happy.

We went out to dinner at  Poggio and I ordered every weird item on the antipasto menu for the table -- tripe, pig trotter croquettes, octopus, sardines -- which was possibly inconsiderate. Everything was okay, but everything was one degree off -- one squeeze of the lemon, one pinch of salt -- from being truly delicious. Carlos Santana walked by while we were dining. Poggio isn't good enough for Santana.

Left: cookies made with Clabber Girl baking powder. Right: homemade baking powder.

I've been super-busy with work and with cooking constantly from my own book, testing and retesting recipes, which is why I haven't been posting at all. Or should I post about my own recipes? Of course I should. I will. Why am I so dense?

Lydia

I moved Lydia, our malingering chicken, out to the coop for a few days, but she just huddled in the corner and every time I went outside I thought I'd find her dead so I brought her back inside last night. She's very droopy and I'm feeding her lots of scrambled eggs. I'm still bitter about that vet bill.


It was supposed to snow here today, but the sky is blue and the sun is out so I guess we're out of luck.