I was in cooking mode since my first cup of coffee last Friday; it was grand. In fact, I went to bed the night before with purple hands. Beets!
The beauty of Montreal was having semi-regular dinner parties. Pretty much two of my favourite things in the world combined: good company and good food. In any case, between the boy’s multiple church gigs and us being stuck on duty [i.e., functionally handcuffed to our apartment], I figured the best way to enjoy the long weekend was snag friends who did not have family turkey/chocolate egg hunt/etc obligations elsewhere. I was unreasonably gleeful at the number of friends who were also in town and wanting to partake in yummy eats. All of the food that was brought and shared was wonderful: cheese & crackers! pierogis! homemade oreo cookies! a salad of greens! zucchini bread! banana muffins! We even had a traditional Polish Easter cake (I believe it’s called “mazurek”) all the way from Milton.
I realise that I’ve been neglecting this blog, so I’ll do my utmost to update more often. One of the failed mentions of about a month ago was this: the boy decided to make me dinner. Not that it’s a rare thing that he does this, but this – this was fantastic. Braised chicken thighs atop a bed of watercress risotto (what a lovely colour!!), and garnished with freshly shaved parm. Can we say… YUM!
A part of my finger is now missing.
Only a small, small, small part of my left pointer (like, 1/8 of my nail, and the flesh beneath it), though, so it’s not all that exciting. I would post photos, but I wanted to spare those who are squeamish at heart. It may not come a surprise that it was thanks to a kitchen accident, and occurred while prepping pizza toppings – chopping green onions, to be exact. I’ve been told a million times to not have dangling appendages from my guide hand, as my right hand grips the knife to slice and dice. But since my first handling of a Chinese cleaver at age 8, I haven’t been able to shake the bad habit of not curling fingers out of harm’s way. And this isn’t the first time it’s happened, either. Only last time it was the tip of my thumb.
I laughed the injury off (really, it didn’t hurt too much), and proceeded to finish the business of pizza. The boy, as always, made some tasty herbed rendition of pizza dough in the bread maker. This time, our lovely pizza sported mozzarella, green onions, brown button mushrooms, roasted garlic and red peppers, Italian sausage, and feta on the adventurous half. The other side – prepared as we didn’t know the specific taste buds of our our dinner company – sported the first 3 ingredients. It definitely turned out to be a tasty, colourful meal.