Sunday Spo-bits

Today is the birthday of J.S. Bach. Herr B could be difficult, but he wrote some lovely tunes. This morning I played a few for Father: he can still instantly recognize them. My late Mother was a singer; one of her favorites to sing was ‘The St. Matthew Passion’ which she often did at Good Friday services. I like his ‘French Suites’ and ‘Widerstehe doch der Sunde’.  

This evening I fly back to Arizona, Land of Perpetual Sunshine, and life goes back to usual. Father was appreciative of my help and my company and Brother  #3 was grateful for a break. I should do this regularly for the sake of them both.  

Last night we ordered out from a local Italian restaurant. When I went to pick up the pasta, I was shocked to see the restaurant was full as if Covid19 did not exist. It was unsettling to see packed tables of unmasked patrons vs. the staff who were all in masks. It was a bit macabre.  ‘People ! (I wanted to shout) This is foolish! Do not rush this!’. Oh the horror. I’m not eating in a restaurant for some time thank you.   

Italian food remains one of my favorite cuisines. Father had veal piccata, his favorite, and I had a linguini with shrimp. Someone is allergic to shrimp, so I get it when I can. Last night on a podcast I heard some great chef talking to another great chef about how to cook pasta properly and whether or not certain shaped noodles do or do not go well with certain sauces. People are awful queer about their pasta. I learned besides the shape to consider, there is the sense of ‘tooth’ viz. how does the macaroni feel to bite down on it. This makes a lot of sense to me. I love the feel of linguine; it has what the Japanese call ‘Nodogoshi” viz. a nice feeling in the throat.  Someone prefers penne-shaped pasta, which I don’t care for much. We both like a large tubular-shaped entity (whose name escapes me). It doesn’t really seem to go with anything, but it is jolly good fun to eat, especially when one puts one on each tine of the fork before biting. 

It’s time for me to go feed the chickens and let them out from their coop. I was getting only 1-2 eggs per day for my labor, until Warrior-Queen showed me yesterday to lift the lid off the main house, which revealed 13 eggs.* She took most of them home and I scrambled the rest for Father’s breakfast. I would be intrigued to do a double-blind taste test to determine if they taste better than the store-bought ones, but their bright orange yolks would give it away.

There will be no more eggs or pasta for me in the next week as I am going to diet. Why is it when men refuse to eat for fears of weigh gain it is called intermittent fasting yet when women do so it is labeled anorexia? Just asking……

 

*This morning’s bounty was four eggs.