Friday, June 8, 2007

Atoll Defense, Broiler Busts


The blog police are after me again. How did they become such taskmasters? It's not as if they really read the blog. They ask to see it so they can check out the pictures and the header, and then the return to playing army men and re-enacting the defense of Pacific atolls. The carnage is usually horrific, and there is almost always a lone plastic corpse that is missed when they are all gathered up, and I usually manage to step on it, barefoot, ma certo, becoming the final (hopping, cursing) victim of the conflict. Those suckers hurt. My son informs me that P-51 Mustangs weren't really used in the Pacific Theater of Operations, but we don't have enough Zeroes, Corsairs or other planes from that theater. It looks to me like the soldiers shot down the P-51 or got taken out by it when it crashed. Atoll defense is a tough lot.

On a totally unrelated topic, The women in my family have some sort of broiler amnesia. We put stuff under the broiler, go back to the business of doing other things, and forget that there is something in the broiler until there are large clouds of smoke billowing from the oven. It doesn't happen every time we use the broiler, but... it happens more than seems normal. We all have smoke alarms that get regular chances to demonstrate that they are still working.

Last night I only had a mild case. I was making eggplant with chickpeas and tomatoes from Arabesque, and the eggplants get broiled or grilled a bit before getting tossed in with the tomatoes and chickpeas. I didn't forget to the point of the smoke alarm going off, or even of the eggplant being unusable... but there were definitely parts that were much crispier than was palatable. And yet the dish as a whole was still pretty nice, over-broiled eggplant and all. I was really only up for making a side dish as dinner last night. All the end-of-school-year festivities have left me tired and cross and eager for the school year to finally bloody END. Potlucks and concerts and field trips... uncle. Seriously.

This afternoon, since we finally didn't have some festivity to attend or get ready to attend, we went to a farmer's market after school and bought a flat of strawberries (and some cherries. and asparagus). We're having a minimal dinner tomorrow night and then the real dinner: strawberry shortcake. I'm sure, since I'm tired and crabby, that baking the shortcake with the kids will be as (if not more) manic depressive as baking with kids often is. One second it's kumbaya-happy, with everyone peacefully taking turns and me thinking how nice and lovely it is, and the next there is egg in my hair and sugar all over the kitchen and the kids are screeching at each other and I am thinking that I really, really don't like children, after all, and then it's back to happy happy love love... only with some substantial clean-up in the immediate future.

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