How can a woman, who rarely wears them, own so many pairs of white socks?

My drawer is full of them. Why don’t I have blue, green, black, and brown--colors I actually wear?

I could wear stockings of course.

Yeah right.

Okay, final post.

Here's dinner:


Notice the innocent looking white pitcher next to the candles, on the left? That is the sauce. One makes the duck for the sauce. The sauce is heaven or sex, whichever you look forward to the most.

My husband spilled a few drops in the sink while transferring it to the pitcher. He tried to climb into the sink to roll around in it.

Really.

Merry Christmas everyone.

And here's desert:


No, I didn't make this myself. Next year. I ordered if from the local French bakery, where I had a pate sandwich for lunch.

What?

So sue me.

I bet at this point you're asking yourself, "What is she thinking; it can't be French--where are the potatoes?"

Here they are:




Potato pancakes with scallions are traditional for Christmas, with duck. There will also be a salad with Roquefort dressing (already done).

Wait 'til you see what's for desert....

This is at the first basting, after the turnips and shallots have been added. There will be a second basting of course; this is French food.


Yes, that is cranberry sauce you see cooking next to the ducks. A holiday is not a real holiday without cranberry sauce. If I could figure out a way to have it on Easter and the Fourth of July, I would.

My husband has been helping me do this, and he keeps saying things like, "Can't we just put them in the pans, you know, so we don't have to wash so many dishes?"

Silly man. If you don't use every dish you own, you're not doing it right, and it's definitely not French.

So far we have used:

two skillets
one roasting pan
two dishes
one plater
two knives
one peeler
one fork
one set of tongs
one wine glass
one spatula
and counting.

Unfortunately the spatula is a poor imitation of my favorite spatula, which has been stolen by faeries or gremlins, so I am using an inferior tool. I hope the duck turns out okay anyway.

I'm sorry, that's two roasting pans.

Duck continued.

On the left are the gizzards that will probably star in a future omelette (dinner tomorrow night?). My husband suggested giving them to the dogs. Over my dead body. Of course, we have a resident sneak thief (remember the adorable Bruno? He's bigger now), so I will have to guard them carefully.

The veggies on the right are for putting under the ducks (so they have a comfy sleeping spot), and will be sauted, roasted, squeezed, and discarded. Hey, this is French cooking, what do you want?





Now, the shallots and turnips are caramelized and then roasted. You get to eat these veggies. The pan is deglazed with wine, and then the result is poured over the ducks and they are roasted for 45 minutes.

How to cook a duck.

We're making dinner tonight and taking the leftovers tomorrow on a hike out to look at rock art. This is one of the luxuries of not seeing extended family on Christmas.

Here are the ducks cooking in clarified butter. They have bouquet garni (my husband has alternately referred to this item as "potpourri" and "Popol Vul"--neither of which I want inside of my duck) inside of them. I didn't have fresh rosemary, so I used dried. I also added extra parsley, because God knows, I have plenty of that.

Iced mocha anyone?

Yes, I'm grading your papers.

I don't think that I'm having breakfast on the lanai this vacation.

The Difference Between Cats and Dogs

I own them both—so I’ve thought about this.

Dogs want to please you and cats don’t give a damn—everyone knows this.

But, I think it goes further than this. When a dog misbehaves, and you say, “Bad dog.” The dog hangs his/her head, and seems appropriately chastised. Mind you, this will not keep them from doing it again, but at least they’ll feel guilty about it.

When you say, “Bad kitty,” the cat thinks, “Good, I like the way that sounds, I’m a baaad kitty.” Then of course, the cat will often perform the offending act again, RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU, knowing full well that you disapprove.

There’s no regret, no guilt, only that smug “What?” look.

Baaad kitty.

The Desperation of the Lactose Intolerant

Today at the store they had “Eggnog Tea.” Okay, I know it sounds revolting, but I’m an intrepid eater, so I thought I’d give it a go. One of the (many) bad things about not being able to drink milk, is that I really miss eggnog this time of year.

I steeped the tea; it smelled like eggnog, but alas, it did not taste much like eggnog.

I commented to my husband, “It would be better with milk.”

He said, “It’d be better with eggnog.”

I bought some new juice for breakfast--just a change of pace, you know. I got orange, pineapple, and banana juice, for that tropical feel.

I know how they get orange juice; I know how they get pineapple juice; how in the heck do they get "banana juice?"

Or, do I not want to know?