Food

I know I talk about food way more than I talk about my daily activity, but how often do you want to hear about my elliptical machine? Maybe I'll start each blog entry like Bridget Jones's Diary with a list of things...

Okay. I'll start that today.

8/1/12
Number of minutes of exercise: 0
Type of exercise: N/A
Amount of water I drank: half a pint
Non-local or non-traceable items I've consumed: 0

That's no fun. See, I plan to get on the elliptical this afternoon before heading out to a dinner meeting. I haven't had any water because I've been working outside since my cell phone doesn't get reception inside the house and every time I fill my glass of water, a bug drops into it.

Every. Single. Time.

I hate nature.

By the way, did you click what I linked to Bridget Jones's Diary--I just linked it there again. Those reviewers are insufferable and I think I might be Bridget Jones. Which means I married Colin Firth. Which means I married Mr. Darcy, and if you'll allow me, that makes me Elizabeth Bennet, who has a delightful rack in PBS' version of Pride & Prejudice. None of this makes me unhappy. See? Classic literature is fun!

For local fixings last night, Groom and I cooked up some haddock from Gilmore's in Bath--the same family runs Holbrooks in Cundy's Harbor. Holbrooks is a great example of what a small community can do to save its working waterfront. And, Cundy's Harbor is also home to the best lobsters on the Maine coast. I don't know why. It just is.

Side note: We almost named our dog "Cundy" after Cundy's Harbor. If you have the mind of an eighth-grade boy, you know why I fought against Cundy. Click that at your own risk. It's sort of like Santorum. (Thank you, Dan Savage.) If you know, you know. If you don't know.... you might want to keep it that way.

So, instead, we named him "Heebie," after a local character in Cundy's Harbor.

Mm. We didn't know. But, I contend it's still better than Cundy.

Dinner: Broiled haddock (local) with herbs from our garden, roasted potatoes and string beans from a new farmstand in Bath--the name of which completely escapes me, but I do remember they take cash only.

I added some wild mushroom- and sage-infused olive oil from Eventide to the potatoes. And then (don't tell groom), I spritzed them with some truffle oil that I bought at Campo de' Fiori in Rome last summer. (Oh my god I am such a douche for including that detail, but it's better than saying "truffle oil I bought the last time I was in Italy..." even though it is technically true.)

Reminds me of a great response I heard once to the question: "Have you read The Iliad?"

"Not in English."

Technically true. How you want to infer that information is entirely up to you and I take no responsibility for it. And people wonder why I love working in PR.

Where was I? Oh, dinner last night. Delicious. Oatmeal this morning with some maple syrup from a friend's tap and then fish tacos for lunch with arugula (or "rocket" if we were in Italy) accompanied by last night's leftover potatoes made into a potato salad with last night's leftover herbs that had been saved in olive oil. I added a hard-boiled egg to the mix and I had a sudden flashback; I know for sure I saw dreamlike wavy lines pass in front of my face.

I was thinking about how long I should boil the eggs and it dawned on me that I eat my eggs over easy so why would I be completely grossed out by a slightly runny hard-boiled egg? And BAM! I remembered that I used to eat soft-boiled eggs with my dad when I was a kid. He'd put the egg in that little holder and hand me a teaspoon. Tap...tap...tap...tap.... carefully peel the shell, clean out the egg in the top of the shell, crank some salt and pepper on the body of the egg, and carefully carve out the white and yellow innards.

It was something we did while we were at the summer cottage (or camp, if you will, and I believe you should) on Biscay Pond. It was one of those old camps with cracks in the pine walls and no insulation and spiders everywhere and you could hear the acorns fall out of the trees, land on the roof, and roll down the side of the house. Everything smelled like pine needles and we had to sweep out the remnants of kid play twice a day.  The mattresses were musty and the bedframes were rusty. No TV, but we had bookcases built into the walls from floor to ceiling. And we had every kind of book, from Heidi to Superstitions of the Ancient World and from The Riverside Shakespeare to the Bible to the Complete Works of Ernest Hemingway. I can't find the Superstitions book online now, but the binding had an image of a giant eyeball that would stare at you as you crossed the room.

All this from eating an egg with lunch. Off to the elliptical before my meeting--this meeting is about something local, too. I'm helping the owners of Two Salty Dogs Pet Outfitters at the Maine Boats, Homes and Harbors Show. Two Salty Dogs is the exclusive retailer for Crooked Doghouses (made in Maine by the nationally acclaimed Kids Crooked Houses), so we're representing the whole shebang at the show.

Tomorrow we can talk about how I had to take a wellness exam today for our health insurance and how I now want to drink a bottle of gin and smoke a pack of cigarettes.