Something that lingers in the salt air that slows you down.
It started raining just before noon, but I wasn’t fazed. I was off to the grocery store and well-equipped to spend the day cooking.
You know when people tell you why French women don’t get fat? Because they go to the market each morning, buying only what they need for that night’s dinner? It’s a charmed existence. It’s also my existence at the beach.
Of course, instead of buying fresh baguette, I’m buying cheese balls.
But on a recent trip, I picked up some produce, and realized what I wanted more than anything else in the world was roasted vegetables for lunch.
So i went home, cranked up the oven (400), and set to cooking. I halved some potatoes (40 minutes), and chopped up some broccoli (25 minutes), and that was pretty much it. I thought I would douse the whole mixture in pesto, but once the oven timer went off, all it took was some salt, pepper, Parmesan, and a squeeze of lemon.
There’s this book, What We Eat When We Eat Alone, and I love the idea of it. What kinds of food do you eat when it’s just you? When you don’t have to think about anyone else’s palate? When all bets are off?