Re-enlisting

The bathroom looks amazingly better. The ceiling has been mudded, the wallpaper finished — it looks like a bathroom near completion instead of a semi-civilized hole to pee in. Unfortunately, we need more mud, which means a trip to town, which means we may as well pick up some veggies, more hummus, more appropriate shade cloth for Siberia….

I see why a trip to town, 20 minutes away, turns hours long and eats the day.

We collected a gallon of berries in half an hour, when dusk made it impossible to pick berries without picking thorns. Ouch! They were wonderful al Mascarpone (which means with gangster from Madagascar*. Don’t ask me, I just report the trivia, I don’t make it up…), and wonderful compoted and heaped over buckwheat pancakes this morning. More are definately in order, however.

    Get it together, Mnarra:

  1. Augh! Kill whichever puppy has gas! [chokes] Nothing worse than a puppy whistling at one end….
  2. Finish this damned chapter so I can get to fun stuff, like death-threats and enormous guilt
  3. Get supplies from town
  4. Hang shade cloth on Siberia
  5. Water Siberia
  6. Write about puppy
  7. Finish mudding the bathroom
  8. Make beer
  9. Write critiques for the1st100words
  10. Pick more berries tonight

*I have just been informed that I was mistaken about the etymology of al Mascarpone. Mascarpone is a small village in northern Italy, known for producing a wide variety of neutered chickens for show gardens, presumably for the benfit of the upper classes. Apparently, these are bred free-range and ubiquitous. You can’t swing…well, a dead castrato rooster without hitting one. Any dish, therefor, eaten in this town was eaten in the company of modified poultry. Fruit al Mascarpone, being fruit with a rich cheese sauce, actually refers to the origins of the dish, and should be interpreted as “fruit eaten in the company of castrated chickens.”

11 thoughts on “Re-enlisting”

      1. Without fussing over your etymology, let me recommend splitting a few medjool dates in half, pitting them, and then stuffing them with some mascarpone. After 2 or 3 date halves, you will no longer care about etymology.

          1. Mmmm. I’ll be replacing the goat cheese with almost any other; both wife & son dislike churned goat squeezings. [shrug] But making a savory fig dish sounds wonderful.

            ANYTHING with figs is pretty damned lovley.

          2. I think it’d work really, really well with marscapone, too; it just needs the creamyness.

            Our seasons are all delayed, so I’m still waiting for cheap ripe figs, but in another week or two we ought to get some, and then we’ll have the figs + cheese + olive oil + pepper goodness for breakfast.

    1. And, since the subject is up (as it were), why the hell would anyone go to the trouble of castrating roosters? I imagine the roosters would like to know, as well. Last I heard, testosterone aids in gaining size.

      Er.

      Well, you know what I mean.

      1. Because, o my heterosexual male friend, testosterone (and all the associated hormones) makes meat tough and nasty. That’s why you eat steers, not bulls. Roosters are usually killed and eaten before they hit puberty, but if you want them to grow big and still taste good, you castrate them. The pig farmer I knew castrated commercial piglets while they were still nursing.

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