'Tis the Season

The Hillbillies just now piled into the van and headed back over the mountains to home. In the cold dark rain. A sad moment.

There is nothing like several days of intense recreational cooking and unrestrained gluttony to reassure the soul that there is, really and truly, enough fat on the bones to make it through the winter.

Lunch today was a culinary masterpiece, if you happen to be schizophrenic. We had a lawyer, sushi, Hebrew National Kosher Knockwurst, a preacher, home-grown mashed sweet potatoes, a bricklayer, a pot of fresh frozen black-eyed peas (part of the treasure trove in the freezer from last summer's trip to the farmer's market), dressing, gravy, a writer from the Northwest, corn bread with onions, (not as good as corn fritters, alas!) made from the stone-ground corn meal we brought home from the grist mill in Sandwich, a tossed salad, an accountant, green beans sauteed in butter with tumeric, potatoes , and a truck driver. A good time was had by all.

The conversation, too, ranged from the weird to the strange, with a smidgen of bizarre, and covered in exhaustive detail just how much of an impact those 5-inch spike-heeled white or red patent leather boots had in the jury's decision to let that preacher's wife off the hook when she unloaded the shotgun in him, and just how quickly a jury would acquit the lawyer if the preacher tried to talk her into wearing such gear, which got him to thinking.... ... At one point, I noticed that the preacher had hunkered up at the dining room table and blocked the writer's escape, perched vulture-like about 2" from his nose, quoting something from his pocket digital bible. Too bad my hands were covered with soapy water, else I would have digitally captured the moment.

Now I have only to bide my time until the e arrives! Halloo! Hoolay!