I'm still editing, which is a good thing because it's clear I'm not going anywhere today. My day has been a string of reproachful looks from furlings; apparently the kittens are disgusted that we let this happen, because I do control the weather, you know. They are predicting temps down to the teens or lower (!) tonight, but the snow-muffled world is lovely, and since my toes are warm and my tea is hot, it's not such a bad thing. (btw, we've got only eight chapters to go, real posts resume soon...)
It must be proof of...well something! The Flying Spaghetti Monster in a parsnip. Right here May you be touched by her noodly appendage. (Yes, I know the official doctrine says "his" but I think that's it's just the traditional sexist refusal to acknowledge that women are as much a part of the deity as men.)
(serious posting to resume in a computer minute)
Like many of you, I am a huge fan of Farmgirl and love reading about her exploits — both in and out of the kitchen. Unlike most of you, however, I am in a superSecretBreadBakingCabal with her where we trade recipes that are in beta, inspire each other and engage in other such superSecretBreadBakingCabal behavior. Well, let me tell you, membership has its privileges.
See that picture over there? (yes, the one with the lovely golden bread) That, my friends, is Farmgirl's Oatmeal Toasting Bread. That I baked here. Because I have the recipe. And you don't! (uh, errr...was that the outLoud voice? how rude of it!)
Yes, this is the very same recipe that Farmgirl has been promising for quite some time now. I'd say how long, but she might kick me out of our superSecretBreadBakingCabal and that would be a bad thing. Very bad.
Until she does, I can only
taunt tempt you with this, my latest, variation. And OMFSM is
it ever good!
Clare and Kiri from eat stuff organize weekend cat blogging to provide us with an excuse to bring on the cute...and we're all happy to oblige... Clare's been MIA for a bit so the WCb home has been floating around, this week landing in France with Lali et Cie, who is collecting the cute this week...
Do you remember the poor little kitten who was looking for someone to take him in just a little while back? This guy. Well, apparently he hasn't lost his thing for boxes, although they sure have gotten bigger! And theKid, who is one of his people, was kind enough to catch him hanging out in his favorite spot and share.
theGrayling, as we called him, has a bunch of real names now, all of which start with SC...perhaps theKid will remind me of some of them. I'm sure she told me but I'm still on that silly deadline and I'm seeing 6.20 in the fraking morning in my usual fashion: still awake after a long night writing.
Be sure to go visit the rest of the kitties in France. Flying Spaghetti Monster knows it's the only way I'm getting to France any time soon!
If it's November, it must be time for me to look wistfully northward through the rain squalls and remind my readers that it time to go out to dinner, or lunch, or both. Repeatedly. That's right kids, it's 25 for 25 time again!
Although, to be totally honest, I've looked at one of them and thought, "looks like it might be interesting..." half a dozen times when I was on my way into a much nicer spot next door. And we went to the Third Floor Fish Cafe on one of those oh-so-wonderful expense account dinners with our publisher and our acquisitions editor who lived in Indiana, (dubbed the "ripply state" as we discussed the lack of mountains over the second bottle of wine...or was it the after dinner coffee and brandy?) and really wanted fish. It was years ago, and I don't recall the specifics of what we ate — other than that there was a lot of truly wonderful seafood (two seafood starved guys from the mid-west at a fish place are fun to watch), rollicking conversation punctuated with laughter that broke across us in waves, a window table to watch a glorious peach and pink streaked sunset, and something with chocolate at the end. It was a much more memorable meal than that description credits, but we were taking a break from a last minute push on a book and I was basking in the moment, not committing it to memory. The evening had a gasp-worthy tab, if I recall correctly. But it was expensed...and on someone else's expense account.
but i digress
Back to 25 for 25. If you'd like an excuse, go somewhere and eat a meal in my honor. I'd do it for you, but you see...ummm, the restaurant options out here are...well, let's just call it limited. Speaking of which, evenTinierTown's got empty waterfront buildings (one goreous and new, one old, funky and inexpensive), a restaurant and a bakery on the main drag for sale, and a decided need for someone to come in and do something! We've got a decent tourist base, lots of bed and breakfasts, close enough to cities and a lifestyle to die for, but not from. You could own a house on the beach for less than your place in the 'burbs and there are even local food producers.
ummm, errr...i am, therefore i digress...?
Where were we? Oh that's right. Justifying going out to eat. Do lunches. They are only 12.50 so you can go to lunch at two places, then go out to dinner with the 25 bucks you saved. What? That's not how math works? (can I toss my hair and quote Barbie's "math is hard!") Anyway, I didn't say we were doing math. We're doing justifications. Not the same thing at all!
Speaking of justifications and book deadlines. While I am supposed to be sitting here at a keyboard putting words on a screen, they are not these words and I doubt that a publisher would buy me a nice dinner because I wrote this. And those publisher-bought dinners have potential. Serious potential.