Perhaps I’m a little nuts, but I think the cross-section of a garlic bulb is one of the prettiest things on earth. The smell of a raw garlic bulb sliced open is another thing altogether, but its middle is nice, all tightly-layered and pressed together, each little nugget with a golden yellow eye in its center. I won’t be persuaded on this: I think it is wonderful.
On an unrelated note, I browned some chicken thighs the other evening; when they cooled, I tore off their skins. The recipe I was following indicated I should discard this, the crisped-up skin, but I couldn’t resist having a taste. Fatty skin, how lovely… I probably would have crunched on the skin of all eight thighs if I didn’t stop myself, though I couldn’t help but yearn yet again (again, or still?) for a dog — if we had a dog, I would have happily mixed my unwanted skin into his food bowl and watched as he fastidiously picked out all of the good bits. This dream dog of mine, he would love me. He would probably also be very fat.
Another non sequitur: today marks the one year anniversary of this mostly culinary, vaguely literary and somewhat travel-oriented experiment of mine. Isn’t it spectacular, what can take place in three-hundred and sixty-five days? Here’s a breakdown for you:
- 254 posts
- 126 meals out
- 85 books read
- 53 recipes
- 10 trips
- 8 get-togethers with book club
- 2 digital cameras
- 1 supper club dinner
And so, here I am, one year later: infinitely happier, metaphorically fatter and undeviatingly hungrier. Hopefully you all feel the same. Thank you so much for reading.