I am uniquely qualified to do what I am likely to commence after I come back from France. I have plenty of time to make that case but for now I will simply note that yesterday’s number of blog readers was consistent with my recent uptick in readers as noted in yesterday’s post.
To keep my audience interested, and I hope this includes avid fans of our current 8th District Congressman, I will put in an entry under the category of Harry’s Diary. That is category # 47 on the right side of the blog that mostly attempts to describe my day to day life.
To that end….
This is the quickie calendar I drew on a large square of paper to help me organize for my trip to France. It was so quick I combined the A and the N into a new letter of the alphabet. I have seven days to finish seven columns for the Reader of roughly 800-900 words each. Only twice since I began writing have I ever attempted to write every week. The first time was about ten years ago when bowing to the inevitable I wrote an eight part history of the Red Plan’s history. You can still find that on my ancient website www.Snowbizz.com here.
Two days ago I showed my French pen pal the recipe I was following to make my monthly dinner. This is one month’s worth of a Christmas gift I gave Claudia last December. It was a pledge to make one meal a month in the upcoming year. Before that I could usually be counted on to make one meal a year at most. Considering leftovers this brings my share of meal making up to about 24 meals for a 365 day year. I know it’s very modest but its a start.
Here’s the recipe I shared with my pen pal (its vegetarian but very good)
And here’s the dish before 25 minutes in oven sans shredded mozzarella cheese:
I will note that my pen pal told me she learned something from my recipe…..that pre-cooked polenta was available even in France. She has made her own before but now maybe she will follow the more labor-saving American recipe.
By the way, this led to two long stories that we partager (shared) in French. I told her about my sister’s baking a boxed cake mix for her birthday that she had brought from Minnesota when she was a foreign exchange student in Spain. Note is was 45 years ago when most of Spain’s ovens were in Bakeries. My pen pal told me this was common all over Europe after the war and of her childhood memory of their American neighbors making such a cake comme magie (like magic). Her Grandmother refused to eat a “chemical” cake and persuaded some people to toss their vetements (clothes) into the poubelle (trash can) if they had been in the presence of the cake as though some sort of radioactivity had been released.