Notes from the Kitchen

Two gripes from the a.m.:
1. Separating the cheap coffee filters I bought recently requires an micro-beam
laser. Not that I could hold the device steady if I had one. I had
Is. in one arm while trying to pull away a single filter for what must have been
ten minutes. Like youthfulness, my dexterity is diminishing at an alarming
rate. Is. probably thought it was some kind of early morning game where I just
fiddle around with coffee filters for the pure pleasure in it (the crinkling,
the one-finger edge-brush, the sighs and grumping).
2. The wedge-dividing membranes in the naval oranges I bought Sunday at
P&C are far more chewy, thick, and pulpy than I could’ve imagined even in my
worse nightmares about eating oranges. Eating one danged orange wedge requires
more jaw work than mowing ten pieces of Super Bubble for half a day. Without removing the wrappers! Plain nasty, and with a thick, clingy albedo (I had to pull McPhee’s Oranges
from the shelf to remember what it was called, the white rind-like stuff…hate
it, even if it’s high in nutrients).

For lunch, I ate a bowl of strawberry Frosted Miniwheats. Curreal. Had to be
swift because I was on baby-watch.

Tonight, it was microwaved baking potatoes. I know it sounds ho-hum,
but all the taste buds for meters around sit up and take notice on basked potato
night. See, our only rule in the house is that we must top the potato to
the critical threshold at which it is pleasingly suspended between healthful and
gluttonous. Only then does the potato break free from its plain-tasting
state and parade around in flavor combinations never before savored. Plus,
we had leftover chili to boot. One other thing about those potatoes.
Lately I’ve been coating them in olive oil with a sprinkle of salt before I nuke
them. Call it a skin enhancer (the idea for which I owe an appreciative nod to
my brother). Crisp and salty, such that you’ll forget it’s not terrible for you.


  1. Did you try blowing the filters apart? (If you can’t blow without spitting, you might try a sanitized bulb syringe.)

    Eating while caring for a baby is a true art, isn’t it? I find that if I sing between bites I can buy a bit more time and avoid having to just inhale whatever I’m eating.

  2. Mmmmm…basked potatoes. Little known fact: these originated in the Basque region, so the name is a re-/mis-spelling of its culinary provenance. (And I like that olive-oil-&-salt massage–maybe garlic salt?)

  3. It’s a balancing act, to be sure. And as for the filters, I’ll probably use two next time. By the time I wheeled the air compressor from the garage the mood probably couldn’t be rescued by even the steamiest mug of java.

    That’s good trivia, Susan. I understand now that my deliberatypo wasn’t so silly after all.

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