September Ins:
In
Books: The Nightingale by Kirstin Hannah & The City We Became by N.K. Jemisin
Soup: Matty Matheson’s Cod Chowder Recipe (Edited) with Ben’s Dungeness Crab and Corn
for the stock:
6 lemon thyme sprigs
2 bay leaves
1 rib celery, quartered
1 crab
2 garlic cloves, smashed
1 small bunch flat-leaf parsleyfor the chowder:
10 ounces|300 grams double smoked slab bacon, diced
¼ cup|60 ml olive oil, divided
1 tablespoon unsalted butter
1 rib celery, finely diced
1 leek stalk, light green only, finely chopped
1 medium white onion, finely diced
3 cups|750 mlfishcrab stock
3 russet potatoes, peeled and diced into 1-inch cubes
3 cups|750 ml heavy cream
1 tablespoon kosher salt
2 pounds|900 gramscod filetcrab, cut into 1 ½-inch chunks
2 ½ cups|6 ounces|160 gramsnapa cabbagecorn, frozen and fresh
¼ cup|15 grams finely sliced chivesDirections
Make the stock: Place all the ingredients in a large stock pot and cover with 8 cups of water. Bring to a boil over high, then reduce the heat to maintain a simmer. Skim the scum from the surface and discard it as it rises. Simmer for 1 hour. Strain, discarding solids. You should have about 3 ½ cups.
Make the chowder: Heat the bacon, 1 tablespoon of olive oil, and butter in a large dutch oven medium-high. Cook until bacon starts to brown and the fat becomes translucent, 4 to 5 minutes. Reduce heat to medium and add in celery, leek, and onion. Cook until soft and fragrant, about 3 minutes.
Add the stock and potatoes. Bring to a quick boil then reduce heat to medium-low. Simmer until potatoes are fork tender, about 15 minutes. Stir in the cream and salt and cook for 10 minutes more.
Gently drop in
codcrab chunks and let cook through, about 5 minutes. Stir in the corn until they soften, about 2 minutes.Spoon chowder into bowls. Garnish with chives and a drizzle of olive oil.
Write: Something that reminds me of dreary days.
Listen: Flowers by Claire Ernst
Watch: The Princess Diaries
More job applications
TBD…
We had just been discussing the stages of her sleep routine as if I were reciting scenes from this year’s top Broadway show. She laughed for a while at my antics and turned over lazily before nuzzling into our linen duvet. What a dream I thought, I had never really envisioned a life like this, but by the end of the day when she falls asleep next to me I am glad it’s the one I’m in.
Earlier this dreary afternoon while sitting on our worn in couch we had talked about writing more, reading more, and many other things on our long list of September “ins”.
I have this faint memory of really liking writing when I was younger, for a while I really liked fantasy. Ironically now, I can barely get through the first chapter of that book that tells the magical tales of Master Kell in Red London. I can’t seem to put my finger on it .. maybe it’s the flipping back and forth through time and space or maybe it’s simpler than that.. maybe it’s like her dad said, “Being read to is like comfort food and like being home” or something of that nature. I’ll leave how this pertains to me up to your interpretation.
Now that I think about it it’s like she said, the more you read the more you think like a writer. Recently, I’ve been falling asleep and I’ve been attempting to narrate my life. It’s odd however that the voice playing in my head is a mature British woman much like Julie Andrews. I don’t have a lot more to expand on that thought other than it seems the most fitting for a main character.
Maybe tonight’s the first night I should write it down I thought. A few more hits of my dab pen for inspiration. Words seem to flow more easily - almost like the buttery caramel in the Magnum ice cream bar I had eaten while I watched people scurry across our front window. To me it felt like I was watching Planet Earth from my safe spot in the living room.
She distracted me as my thoughts drifted to the age-old question… is she the love of my life? I thought she may or may not be, but moments later I realized it is more likely that she may be the love of my life than if she were to “not be” because if the latter were the case, well then I’d put money on the fact that I’d be devastated.
Even in her rust-colored yoga pants/heatless curl outfit, she lit a fire in me. She was like a wax melt warm and safe. Even though at times she may not smell like one after late hours at the hospital, or after an early morning bike ride. If anything, at least my love of showering has rubbed off on her. There’s just something about being clean isn’t there? To me, it’s the most rejuvenating feeling it’s almost like you can scrub and wash away anything you want to. Note to self: Add cold and warm showers to September “ins”.
We were looking through photos from a year ago after we had settled down to our respective sides of the bed. You with your two pillows and me, with my four. How funny to think of our lives even a year ago? The long and short of it was that we were busy and I sat missing you. And here we are now talking about marriage - and our kids. With little dinosaur overalls and strider bikes just like you had always wanted.
The other day you asked me if I daydreamed. I think sometimes I do daydream about our lives - once we are able to live alone with a home and what it means to be in our family. Maybe the next entry should be about that …
If you were to go to a library to look for me where would you go, I thought? I know where I’d look for you. You’d be at the online catalog looking for some hot new novel that could help you get back into reading.
Of course, you’d have some technical difficulties, and with that I’d watch you huff and push your hair back quickly. Past your eyes, off from your sharp cheekbones glimmering under the overhead lighting.
“Highlighter” I’d think to myself, makeup always has confused me.
You’d mutter some things to yourself and make exaggerated movements toward the section that the computer told you to go to. I’d be in a comfortable chair with a book in my lap watching you look at the empty space where the book was and huff again. Not realizing that the very book in my lap was the one you were looking for.