Posted tagged ‘Meat’

“Rest is not idleness, and to lie sometimes on the grass on a summer day listening to the murmur of water, or watching the clouds float across the sky, is hardly a waste of time.”

September 6, 2015

Sorry for today’s late start but it was one of those mirror under the nose mornings. I slept until 11, but as my mother always said, I must have needed it.

It is another beautiful day with lots of sun and no humidity. I have no plans except for doing a few house things like water plants, fold laundry and oil my old desk. It is an antique children’s desk and needs periodic oiling as it gets quite dry. With no humidity, it’s a great oil the desk day.

My neighbors are on their deck. I can hear them talking. I can also smell their dinner cooking on the grill. I think today is probably universal cook on the grill Sunday. Both my sisters also mentioned a barbecue. Some meat, fresh corn and a salad is the perfect menu. The local corn is now in the farm markets. It is so sweet you’d almost want it for dessert. Adding homegrown tomatoes raises the salad to culinary heights. The meat is secondary; anything will do. I’m partial to cheeseburgers but won’t turn my nose up at ribs or the lowly hot dog. I best stop now. I’m making myself hungry!

The summer has passed quickly. We might have one or two movie Saturdays left before it gets too cold. The last one has to be a blockbuster, but I haven’t yet decided what it will be, maybe The Adventures of Robin Hood or North by Northwest. I do have a couple I can’t wait to show as they are both so very bad, The Terror of Tiny Town (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Pehsws6QYEo) and Chopper Chicks in Zombietown. That last one doesn’t even rate as a B movie.

It has been eleven years of being retired, but I still have a lingering distaste for Labor Day. It used to mean back to work and it was the symbolic end of summer. It wasn’t a day to celebrate. It was a day to mourn.

“Hot July brings cooling showers, Apricots and gillyflowers.”

July 23, 2012

The sun just arrived. The morning had been cloudy, and I was hopeful for some rain, but then I noticed the sunlight. The paper said low 80’s for today. If the breeze stays, though, it will be a lovely day. Last night was chilly for a while then the night breeze disappeared and the evening got warmish again. We dined on the deck. I barbecued a pork loin, and we had potato salad and fruit salad then finished with chocolate chip cookies made by my friend Clare. It was a perfect summer meal.

I don’t remember summer suppers when I was a kid. In the winter my mother cooked everything, meat, potatoes and a vegetable, but our kitchen was small and would get really hot on a summer day if the stove and the oven were used so I figure we had hot dogs or hamburgers and maybe ears of corn. We were big lovers of corn. My dad was the best corn eater, and we loved to watch him mow down the rows as if he were a typewriter. As he ate, small pieces of corn would fly in the air. That always made us laugh. If records for finishing an ear of corn in the quickest time were kept, my father would be high on the list.

After we moved to the cape and had a big backyard, my father barbecued most weekend summer nights. We had your usual menu: potato salad with hot dogs and hamburgers, and for the first time my mother added chicken with barbecue sauce. My father used to take orders for cheeseburgers. My mother made great potato salad. Those were always the best of summer meals.

When I was an adult, my parents no longer lived on the cape. If I visited them in the summer, my father always barbecued. He would sit outside on a lawn chair with a highball in one hand and a cigarette in the other and keep watch on the meat. Over the years the meat menu had changed. My father would barbecue sausages, including Chinese sausages, or steak tips and once in a while pork and chicken. One thing didn’t change: my mother still made her potato salad. I remember those dinners when the table was filled with food and the meat was cooked perfectly. After dinner, we’d sit around the table and play cards, usually High-Lo Jack, until it was really late. I remember the kitchen filled with cigarette smoke, glasses on the table and my father dropping his trump with a flourish and a grin. “Made my bid,” he’d say.


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