Writing with Jack at side. About to start sipping home-brewed coffee. Should be pretty strong, as the scoops were avalanche-y. More writing today than I expected, to be honest. Think this entry will put me over 2000 words. Still have to print a little. Something. Anything. Bought some new ink cartridges, so I’ll have it happen. First sip, militaristically ardent. Even with the mocha mix. Sky, again graying. So this hot cup, even more warranted. Found some old poems in an old document here on the little laptop monster. Jack moves spastically, as if impatient to know precisely how I’m going to use them. Playing the music I usually do with him, the Thievery or Morcheeba station. Sometimes the Downtempo/Chill stations, one or two of them. Hope he likes me playing these tunes with him…
Cooking dinner tonight, or going to try. A chicken pesto dish with angel hair pasta. Definitely going to get a new wine to pair with. But what? Was thinking a Pinot, but I’m not in much a Pinot pose. What about a Sauv Blanc, or White Bordeaux blend? Or maybe even an Albariño. Haven’t had many of those. Guess I’m finally getting to that vinoDish mission set I mentioned on mikeslognoblog. Not going to back out, either, as I most of time do with cooking.
6:48pm. All ingredients bought. Chose a 2012 Russian River/Sonoma County Pinot, a label I’ve never before tasted.. Moshin Vineyards. Someone in line told me it’s great, so we’ll see. Won’t let mySelf get stressed, and I don’t know why I need to give mySelf a pep talk. It’s cooking. People have been doing it for thousands of years. Think I’m enough apt. Just noticed I’m on page 199 of this doc for bottledaux [here on laptop, my unavoidable device rodent… Page 199? Where’s that NOVEL??]. Outside, no visible blue. Fantasized about travel on way back from Oliver’s, listening to Thievery station again. Saw Self in New York, mostly. Writing in Comp, predominantly in note’s shape. I was in a lounge, or bar, or lobby, simply sipping, scribbling. No appointments. No meetings. Not even Self-publishing deadlines. No work at all, actually. Just in what I set to do: Write on Road.
What should I do with the bread I bought? What can I do.. Lightly butter? Or just toasted? We have a pre-made salad, which won’t be the case next time. Tomorrow’s menu, maybe something vegetarian. 1st beer, in Writer’s wiring. Time for break, wanting to research some away spots, maybe something to do with this bread. Nerves suddenly unnerved, about meal prep. Not letting it settle in thinking.
10:55pm. The dish turned out okay, with help from Alice, calming me down. Don’t know why cooking stresses me as it does. The star of the night’s plating, I have to say, this 2010 Moshin Pinot. Can’t remember the last time I had Burgundy for night’s cap. This Pinot, magenta, rustic red in tint. Nose: floral, spicy, damply rich forest floor, raspberry, mushroom. And mouth, where its spell animatedly dwells. Think I may have found a new bottle love. This is the type of wine I want to sip on my overnights, in that hotel Room while writing. But back to the meal I prepared, I definitely need to temper my temper, my temperament. And the pesto, bought two kinds, actually. One for chicken marinade, other for remaining angel hair. And the bread.. disruptive, it was so delicious. Want to execute more challenging dishes. But I have to work my way to that, I know. My mama–the most skilled, deliciously deadly, magnetic, diversified, mystic kitchen queen I’ve ever known–started with Hamburger Helper, way when back when. So I need to have the same diligence, focus, relentless curiosity, and CONFIDENCE, as my queen. My favorite dish on the mama menu? … Hard to say, but it’d have to be either linguini & clams, or her jambalaya. Or her crab enchiladas. Or her burgers with carmelized onions. Ugh… Her cooking’s always seemed masterful, comforting. How has she kept that consistency, perception from her subjects, notably me? Doesn’t matter. She’s Mom, the master chef; most loving, incredible woman I’ve EVER known.. will ever know. She’s my mom.
Oh this Pinot. Mom has told me several times she has a stark, sharp, dart of an aversion to the red Burg’, but this one may get her attention, or anyone’s skeptical. Even Katie’s, my little winemaker professor sis. This bottle has a swagger that has me still, stunned. Think I’m going to close the session, so I can just enjoy.
Just finished my glass, ready for bed. Tomorrow, Tuesday, my Sunday. Getting confusing, and a bit annoying. But, I’ll write my way through all days, no matter its swaying cape. Can still taste the last sip’s finish. Reminds me of the family trip to Paris in ’09, driving 3 hours to taste in Pinot’s home zone, Beaune. Tasting, now: raspberry, maple, mint, herbal green tea[?], quiet coffee, coastal dampness. Wonder what the oak was on this project. I’m guessing 18 months French, 30% new… Probably laughably off, but I wanted to at least note a guess.