so, i was at the butcher the other day and i saw they had spicy pork sausage-meat with tarragon and sage. say no more i thought, i will have me a pound and a half at three ninety eight right away. this lady i stood next to, came closer, touched my elbow, heaving bosom, wedding ring and all, and in that order, wanted to know what i would do with this pork meat. right there and then at the meat counter without thinking i took up the notion. why, i said, i'd roll'em into small balls, grind course pepper over the heap till my arm hurt, then put them on a slow charcoal so they'd griddle and scorch. well, you'd never, you'd think i was in the south, her blue eyes lit right up at me; she said, well, and this is the truth, she said i'd never, ever thought of this all by my lonely self, are you a chef? she said all this in one breath, with proper infliction, demeanor and all. john, the butcher, just looked at me, brows right under his hairline, he knew me by sight, but had to blink twice on account of my new hair cut, see, my hair was down to my shoulders and i had it cut, like i was joining the marines. i could see he thought i was nuts to let her off the hook, but me, i can see trouble on a dark midnight, afore a full moon a'rising. so, i turned and in my confusion went to get season's latest, yes, zucchini. i find zucchini superfluous, garden grown, farmer's market or not. they're just zucchini, i've stopped growing them back at my place on shell, when the farmer 'cross the fence declaimed: mine is bigger. yes, yes, already then it was an old joke, from some movie, but he blinked when i offered across pickets, why don't you come over sometime and see me. zucchini does that to me, in season or not.
back at the house i built a nice charcoal fire and did my meat, ever so slowly, and then on low coals the zucchini, lightly salted and oiled.
no one ever believes me, i did eat by myself, stephanie being absent, down in the bay, catching frogs and petting stray cats. i'll be on my way in the morning and will report from the hills of oakland. she found this place for our vacation, a luscious patch of an oasis, rare plants in flower, a cat owning the garden and a jolly green frog hurdling himself through an open window at midnight. i don't need zucchini to know it won't get much better.
you must know by now you can click on an image to see it full frame...
a tomato stew is notoriously a mess regardless. zebras or not, pictures don't lie. you can fake it, but everybody knows a tomato ain't round once you've cooked it. take my word though, the meatballs, tomatoes and (even) the zucchini were superb, so lets leave it at that. yes?