1. Last night, I made a meal I hadn’t made in over two years — something involving pork chops, cider vinegar, shallots, and slices of tart Granny Smith apple. It was better than I remembered.
2. M and I had a lazy Saturday. We stayed in bed until gone 9.30. We had a lazy summer lunch on the porch at Parker and Otis. And in the evening we watched two movies back to back. He introduced me to one: Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. Verdict: better than I’d expected. I introduced him to one: The Notebook. Verdict: ridiculous, stupid, critically terrible movie that everyone must endure.
3. Tonight I made pasta with the basil I’ve been growing on my porch.
4. L is on her way over with a batch of blueberry muffins. She said the blueberries are too tart this time. Perfect. It makes the roof of my mouth tingle to think of them.
(It seems most of my simple pleasures involve food. Or M.)
Nodding to an earlier Paper Plain post on your favorite romance movies, I declare that Butch and Sundance is all-time great BROmance flick.
I would also suggest, Gentle Writer, that you check out another Newman classic, Cool Hand Luke. In order for a man to eat 50 hardboiled eggs, he must first love them with reckless abandon.