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pameladeanThey brought our salad. The baby, previously described as one who "doesn't like [solid] food," grabbed a leaf of lettuce and crammed it into her mouth, and then made a comical face at the lemon and olive oil dressing. She spent a considerable time after that amusing herself by plastering leaves of lettuce to her tongue and making faces as she either ejected them or swallowed them down. Her parents traded her back and forth so that they could actually eat. It was a very pleasant interaction to watch, no quarrelling and not much overt communication, but it worked.
The salad was lovely. The menu said the salad had caper berries in it, which was fortunate (the saying, I mean) because nobody knew what they were just by looking. They looked like green olives with long stems, packed with small seeds in a grid, rather than having one large pit. They tasted pickled.
After more reminiscences and some energetic grabbing of forks and table knives by the baby -- who was quite good about having them taken away from her, too -- they brought the main course. You could have quail if you wanted, but Eric and I had opted for the salmon. It was an enormous piece of beautifully-cooked salmon, with mounds of potato-and-fava-bean puree, in a lake of baked Parmesan sauce. I'd expected the sauce to be more solid, and on top where I could pick it off, but I just corralled it with some decorative greenery and ate the rest. My stomach got a little picky with me later in the evening, but it was not a problem at all.
I did eschew the Key lime pie, despite reports that it was "even more limey than Key lime pie usually is." My own experience and the corroboration of others at the table indicated that it would be full of eggs and cream. I had tea to console myself, and Eric had some too. This was where the disassembly of the teapots came in. We each got an individual cobalt-blue teapot, with a metal lid and fine-meshed metal tea strainer inside. A nice blend of practicality and beauty.
At some time during dinner, friends and family stood up and made short speeches. The groom's brother was pretty funny, and their mutual friend from college was suitably obscure and ironic. The bride's mother told a story of how the bride had answered, at age three, the question of how she got her red hair. But since the bride urgently signalled to her not to tell it, I will maintain the solidarity of redheads and not repeat it here.
The bride's mother also told a story involving the father of the baby at our table, who had removed himself and his daughter a little earlier when she got a bit fretful. As part of the story she turned from the bridal table towards the rest of us and, imitating a more extensive flashing, whipped open her smart blue jacket, just as our waiter passed what would have been behind her when he chose his trajectory. He was a somber young man, but he broke into a grin.
The baby's father came back and was told what he had missed. The bridge and groom made the rounds, smiling and rather exhausted to look at. People finished their caffeine and pie and started to get up. Eric went off to speak to the bride and groom. There was a further gathering at their house, and I told him I'd be glad to go with him to it if he wanted to go. But we were both worn out and somewhat over our usual limit for socializing.
We walked home slowly, looking at birds and noticing again that the lilacs were already opening. When we got to Eric's I fell over on the bed, hearing him saying distantly, "Why don't you rest for a while, and I'll do some of my reading." I remarked that I was like his cat; I was very obedient if you told me to do what I was doing already. Then I did not quite fall asleep, and while I was not sleeping or waking, it seemed to me that rabbits loomed out of the ceiling, making remarks.
"At the exact moment of the Equinox, you can stand an egg on its end."
"Consider a spherical relationship of uniform density."
"I shall be too late."
"You and I have brains. The others have fluff."
I wanted to question them, but they had left. There was only an orange cat on the bed, who wanted petting.
Pamela
The salad was lovely. The menu said the salad had caper berries in it, which was fortunate (the saying, I mean) because nobody knew what they were just by looking. They looked like green olives with long stems, packed with small seeds in a grid, rather than having one large pit. They tasted pickled.
After more reminiscences and some energetic grabbing of forks and table knives by the baby -- who was quite good about having them taken away from her, too -- they brought the main course. You could have quail if you wanted, but Eric and I had opted for the salmon. It was an enormous piece of beautifully-cooked salmon, with mounds of potato-and-fava-bean puree, in a lake of baked Parmesan sauce. I'd expected the sauce to be more solid, and on top where I could pick it off, but I just corralled it with some decorative greenery and ate the rest. My stomach got a little picky with me later in the evening, but it was not a problem at all.
I did eschew the Key lime pie, despite reports that it was "even more limey than Key lime pie usually is." My own experience and the corroboration of others at the table indicated that it would be full of eggs and cream. I had tea to console myself, and Eric had some too. This was where the disassembly of the teapots came in. We each got an individual cobalt-blue teapot, with a metal lid and fine-meshed metal tea strainer inside. A nice blend of practicality and beauty.
At some time during dinner, friends and family stood up and made short speeches. The groom's brother was pretty funny, and their mutual friend from college was suitably obscure and ironic. The bride's mother told a story of how the bride had answered, at age three, the question of how she got her red hair. But since the bride urgently signalled to her not to tell it, I will maintain the solidarity of redheads and not repeat it here.
The bride's mother also told a story involving the father of the baby at our table, who had removed himself and his daughter a little earlier when she got a bit fretful. As part of the story she turned from the bridal table towards the rest of us and, imitating a more extensive flashing, whipped open her smart blue jacket, just as our waiter passed what would have been behind her when he chose his trajectory. He was a somber young man, but he broke into a grin.
The baby's father came back and was told what he had missed. The bridge and groom made the rounds, smiling and rather exhausted to look at. People finished their caffeine and pie and started to get up. Eric went off to speak to the bride and groom. There was a further gathering at their house, and I told him I'd be glad to go with him to it if he wanted to go. But we were both worn out and somewhat over our usual limit for socializing.
We walked home slowly, looking at birds and noticing again that the lilacs were already opening. When we got to Eric's I fell over on the bed, hearing him saying distantly, "Why don't you rest for a while, and I'll do some of my reading." I remarked that I was like his cat; I was very obedient if you told me to do what I was doing already. Then I did not quite fall asleep, and while I was not sleeping or waking, it seemed to me that rabbits loomed out of the ceiling, making remarks.
"At the exact moment of the Equinox, you can stand an egg on its end."
"Consider a spherical relationship of uniform density."
"I shall be too late."
"You and I have brains. The others have fluff."
I wanted to question them, but they had left. There was only an orange cat on the bed, who wanted petting.
Pamela
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no subject
Date: 2003-05-07 02:28 pm (UTC)i think i am like his cat, too. or maybe like my own.
no subject
Date: 2003-05-07 03:22 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-05-09 10:59 am (UTC)Pamela
no subject
Date: 2003-05-09 05:24 pm (UTC)http://www-ang.kfunigraz.ac.at/~katzer/engl/generic_frame.html?Capp_spi.html
And here is a picture of a caper flower; it's awfully pretty!
In any case, it doesn't seem to me that the flowers would be inedible, but it would be awfully hard, I think, to pickle them.
no subject
Date: 2003-05-09 07:00 pm (UTC)The flowers are fine, but no, they don't look picklable. They look as if they'd collaps into a mess.
I was amused that the flavor of capers is attributed to, among other components, rutin. We give one of our cats rutin every day. He has chylothorax, and it may help.
Pamela
no subject
Date: 2003-05-07 07:19 pm (UTC)Which way it falls back down depends on which hemisphere you're in.
no subject
Date: 2003-05-08 01:18 pm (UTC)Pamela
Uh, Obble?
Date: 2003-05-07 07:47 pm (UTC)Re: Uh, Obble?
Date: 2003-05-07 08:32 pm (UTC)Pre-CISE-ly.
Pamela
no subject
Date: 2003-05-07 07:57 pm (UTC)B
no subject
Date: 2003-05-07 08:33 pm (UTC)I'm so predictable.
Pamela
8-)