I should be writing. Instead, I…

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…fell prey to a visit to Blueberry Meadows for our annual “‘pickin’ and grinnin’ and bakin’” venture. [Okay, that’s just lame, nor is it a term we’ve ever used, but, according to my wife, it’s safer for all concerned to just humor me and move on as if I’m normal.]

Subconsciously [or consciously–I really have no culinary moral compass], I must have felt I owed it to myself, since yesterday I didn’t give in to my customary saunter through the Farmer’s Market, where I snag a couple of potato flour donuts and a loaf of Altamura bread from Gathering Together Farms.

And if the nice, nice ladies from El Salvador have their griddle warmed up…

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you won’t see me turning down a trio of their specialty pupusas.

Not exactly the poster boy for culinary restraint, I admit. [But no worries, we have plans to widen the doorways throughout the house.]


 

So it was straight to the kitchen after the return home.

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[I’d like to claim the pretty, blueberry-infused muffins as mine–“Uh, dear, do you want some batter to go with those blueberries?”–, but those are the work of my wife.

For me, it was time to experiment, as I swirled lemon curd in my half of the batter and I ‘roasted’ some of the berries to bring out the sugar. I sauteéd another handful of berries in a butter/brown sugar/brandy sauce. [In hind-taste, I could have used a bit more brandy.]

Now, for those recipe-writers with the temerity to warn us off the muffins to allow for ‘cool-down’, well, piffle! I mean, why not just grab a fork and dig right into one straight from the pan?

Then again, if you’re one of the effete elite, well, yeah, I guess you probably should wait the whole half-hour so the muffins will come out intact.

Then-then again, with enough batter and a mini-pie plate, compromises can be reached

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For the faint of heart, avert your eyes and cover your ears, everybody, I’m goin’ in!

[Don’t tell my wife. You wouldn’t want to disturb her reading anyway, right?]

 

Verdict? Plenty moist [the lemon curd helped], plenty of berry flavor, and just enough of the citrus overtone to encourage future experimentation.

I’d better stop eating these little hummers so I’ll be hungry for dinner.

I should be writing. Instead…

I’m cooking. Chile verde is on the menu. Didn’t have to be, but hey, we procrastinators have to/tend to follow the latest shiny object, which, in this case, was the stainless steel pot you see below.

A few realizations, however.

First-draft writing and cooking–

1. They often result in a mess, albeit unavoidable. [A minor victory: I left the dishes for later while I posted this.]

2. I often balk at taking that first taste. What if it’s hazmat material? And that look back at the first 500 words? I’d rather not see how awkward, nonsensical, and/or high-minded it is.

3. Giving the work time to develop–whether on the stovetop or in our mind–almost always improves the final product.

4. The experimentation doesn’t end once you turn on the heat. I’ll be dividing the sauce between a meat version and a vegetarian version. And my stories? New roadblocks and characters will inevitably show up.

chile verdeAnd in an ironic twist, by writing about another departure from my appointment at the keyboard, I’m actually following through on that same appointment. [Welcome to my world…]

Please refrain from comments reminding me about the dirty dishes. Let me bask for awhile. Thanks for reading.