Made fresh mozzarella yesterday, from scratch. One gallon of organic milk, 1 1/2 tsp. of citric acid, 1/4 of a tablet of rennet, some salt.
We had pizza margherita yesterday as an afternoon snack.
This morning I toasted a piece of sourdough bread, put a “wedge,” okay, a blob, of fresh mozzarella on the plate next to it, and sliced about 6 grape tomatoes in half and ate it all for breakfast.
It was delicious.
But we can’t find transcendence from food. It is, in fact, exactly the opposite, if what we are talking about is trying to transcend the body and our external circumstances.
So I suppose that also rules out the antiquing that Husband and I did today, especially since the only “result” was that we both ended up with allergy headaches from all the dust and must and mold in the air.
I did finally get to see what “Bakelite” was. Well, actually, I still don’t know what it is, but I know now what it looks like (the pictures are all blurry; I don’t know why. Maybe it was the 7th and 8th shots of espresso I had before we left):
And got to ponder the likelihood of spending $10 for a Barbie-house sized red plastic sofa (more valuable than a “couch” I suppose):
And to gaze upon a glass platter full of virgin Mary’s:
I guess the best part is Husband’s new car has separate temperature controls for each side of the car:
So: surreal, and comfortable, but transcendent?
We played Rummikub with Only Daughter and Stepson, and I wasn’t a poor sport. Not even once.
Sorry, it’s the best I can do.