wherever i go, my couch will follow

I'm pretty sure I should call in sick today. You know, to myself. I do have a sore throat. And for days, no matter how much I sleep I'm still tired. Or I think I'm tired. It's possible I'm confusing tiredness and laziness.

Should we buy a house? I walked by this one yesterday while out with C. Arthur Miller. The yard was full of what I think a realtor would call "mature plantings."

I read that yesterday's hard frost may have seriously damaged not only this summer's strawberry and blueberry crops, but next fall's apples, as well. This changes everything, obviously.

The yachtsman won't live in a red state, which rules out the South. He also won't live on the West Coast because he doesn't want to be "three hours behind." This rules out Portland, Oregon, where I've never been, but an online personality-test-type thing I took awhile ago determined I should live there.

The lure of the couch is very strong right now. The couch, a pot of tea, last night's episode of Lost.

On Saturday we went to the first farmers market of the summer. It was freezing cold and raining, and the next day it snowed. There were basically three things for sale: greens, asparagus, and radishes. Also, baked goods and pottery.

Looking at these charts of vegetables and fruits that are in season and being sold at the beautiful farmers market at the Ferry building in San Francisco is not a good idea. And it's not fair, either. It's like comparing apples to oranges. Or, in this case, radishes to cherries.

If we lived in California I'd be eating cherries right now. Actually, if we lived in California I'd still be in bed. Fer shur. However, if we lived in California, Arnold Schwarzenegger would be my governor, which is unacceptable. And if we lived in San Francisco, specifically, I would be forced by law to compost.

So for now, radishes.

As you may recall, last spring I was obsessed with a little shizzle I like to call radish toast, so when I saw this recipe for Seared Radish Crostini, I had to give it a try. Crostini is just a fancy word for toast, after all. And this is basically a fancier, fattier, deliciouser version of last year's radish toast.


The key is the bagna cauda. Did I impress you with that term? In my mind I call it crack sauce: melted butter, olive oil, lots of garlic, anchovies, parsley. So. Good. Spread the bagna cauda on crostini and top with seared radishes, and you have a little shizzle I like to call fancy radish toast with crack sauce.

Fancy Radish Toast With Crack Sauce
from the New York Times

1 bunch radishes
9 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
½ teaspoon kosher salt
¼ teaspoon pepper
4 tablespoons butter
8 anchovy fillets, finely chopped [If you don't like anchovies you could leave them out, but how about trying it first with just one or two?]
4 large garlic cloves, finely chopped
Pinch red pepper flakes
8 thin slices crusty bread, toasted
4 teaspoons chopped parsley

1. Remove leaves and stems from radishes; trim the tails. Cut larger radishes lengthwise into sixths and smaller radishes lengthwise into quarters.

2. Place a large skillet over medium-high heat until very hot. Add 1 tablespoon oil, radishes in a single layer (do not crowd), and salt and pepper. Cook radishes, without moving them, until they are lightly colored on undersides, about 3 minutes. Shake pan and continue cooking until tender, about 3 more minutes.

3. In a small skillet over medium heat, melt butter. Stir in anchovies, garlic, red pepper, and remaining oil. [I wasn’t paying attention and also stirred in the parsley, which I think I’ll do next time, too.] Reduce heat and simmer about 4 minutes.

4. Brush each slice of toast with sauce and top with several radish wedges. Spoon additional sauce on top, sprinkle with parsley and serve. [I made one up for the photo, but my stepmom had the idea to serve these “deconstructed”—the three separate parts (toasted bread, bagna cauda, radishes) on a platter so everyone could make their own.]

131 memory lane, apt. 306

This week we'll take a little wander down memory lane, if you don't mind. I've been sick and tired for the past two days (not in a "I'm sick and tired, goddammit!" kind of way; I'm literally sick and literally tired, goddammit), and I can't seem to muster a post. I spent much of the most beautiful weekend of the year thus far (sunny, breezy, 70s and 80s) on my couch drinking tea, reading magazines, and eating koulouria. (There may also have been a little whining and copious amounts of nose blowing involved.)


The koulouria are on memory lane. You can read about them here.

And so are the magazines: I read three from this pile on Saturday.


Now I'm going to pop half a Benadryl (which acts on me like an elephant tranquilizer would on someone else) and travel the well-worn path from the couch to my bed.

and we're back

Well, sort of. I'd planned to begin the first full week of the first year of the new decade with my ducks in a row: house cleaned, office organized, laundry done, bills paid, e-mails replied to, hair washed, dog groomed, fridge and cupboards stocked. But my house and office are a mess, my dirty clothes still in the suitcase, my inbox full, the pot of gruel I cooked to sustain me this week inedible. I haven't showered in days, let alone brushed the teeth and cleaned the ears of my dog.

So. We really are back: Back to exactly where we were when I left off last year, spending more time with my fleece-clad ass on the couch than my nose to the grindstone.

A toast, then, to the couch.

Wait. Do you need something to fill your glass? A nice wine to sip while you sit on your couch, toasting your couch? (God, I love my couch. It's an oasis. An oasis of denial and procrastination, but a nice place nonetheless.) Because I have a recommendation. Not for a specific bottle of wine—Couch Jedis are too lazy by nature to be oenophiles (though we do have strong opinions about what's good and bad)—but a recommendation for where to find wine recommendations.

For awhile now I've relied on the wine reviews of a guy called Tuta who writes for a local wine shop. And now Tuta has started his own wine bl*g, which means that I can sit on my couch drinking wine and reading about wines I hope to one day buy and drink while sitting on my couch. (It's called the circle of life, people.)

The yachtsman and I are not big spenders—we rarely buy a bottle for ourselves that costs more than $15, and we must love people very, very much to bring them a bottle that costs more than $20. But even when the wine Tuta's reviewing is out of my price range, I enjoy his writing. He provides interesting historical background and describes food pairings that make me salivate, but what I like best is the way he makes the often-stuffy language of wine accessible: "The taste is lightly herbal—a sprig of juniper, a crab apple, a pine cone—like things a child might bring home from a long walk." Because I can rarely find the crab apple or the pine cone in a glass of wine, but I think I could taste the treasures found on a long walk.

Cheers, then, to the couch and to the dirty floor on which the couch sits. To the wine we'll drink, to the dog's unbrushed teeth, to resolutions and good intentions. To things changing, and to things staying the same.

sunday on the couch

I just got the following text message from the littlest sister: "Fabulous goodmorninging!" And to you, too.


Soon I will be moving from the couch to the car, and then to a couple of movie theaters in Montpelier, which seems like the perfect way to spend this day -- it's overcast and raininging.