• the quotidian (3.30.15)

    Quotidian: daily, usual or customary; 
    everyday; ordinary; commonplace



    Dreaming of bacon. 
    (Or just grinning with relief that the pig fence is done.)
    We are renaming her (the girl, not the pig) Fern.

    He made the entire supper: roasted potatoes and sausages and scrambled eggs.

    When we first drove over the bridge, my husband slowed the van to a reverential crawl. 
    “Just look at those timbers,” he whispered. 
    (Random fact: Virginia has 8 covered bridges; Pennsylvania has 197.)

    New day, old barn.
    Gentle giants: Belgians!
    (Then again, they aggressively pummeled the stall doors with their massive hooves, 
    so maybe “gentle” isn’t the right word after all.)

    Made-to-order breakfast for Grandmommy: blueberries, bananas, and milk.
    An evening with friends: enchanting.

    This same time, years previous: wuv, tru wuv, on being together, Good Friday fun, warts and all, the boy and the dishes, cream puffs, oatmeal crackers, and coconut brownies.    

  • seven-minute egg

    Just a quick pop-in to tell you about an egg.

    That’s right. An egg.

    But not just any egg. This, my friends, is the seven-minute egg.

    I’ve heard about boiling eggs so that the yolk is still runny, but it seemed over-the-top. Want a runny egg? Just crack it in a skillet and fry it. Big whoop.

    But then I read Molly’s article. As usual, her words were beguiling, her methods seductive. So I made the egg.

    Everything proceeded just fine until I peeled it. The egg felt soft—squishy soft—in my hand. Like there was a big puddle of liquid inside, oh dear. Anticipatorially (new word!) anguished, I plopped the for-sure underdone egg into a bowl and hastily sliced it open and—

    I froze.

    The white was solid.
    The yolk was velvety soft, like a thick, creamy sauce.
    The egg was perfect.
    Perfect!

    Elated, I snapped a few pictures and then dug in, dipping my buttered toast into the cheesy yolk and, at the all-too-soon end, raking the crust over the bottom of the bowl to dredge up every last smear of egg.

    Seven-Minute Egg
    As per Molly Wizenberg’s instructions on Saveur (via this post on Orangette).

    Fill a saucepan with enough water to cover an egg and bring it to a boil. Slip the egg, still cold from the fridge, into the bubbling water and set the timer for 7 minutes. (I reduced the heat a tad—just enough to keep the water boiling, but not madly boiling—and kept the saucepan partially covered.) When the timer bings, quickly cool the egg in cold water. Peel the egg and serve immediately. 

    Cooked eggs can be chilled and then later reheated for 20 seconds in the microwave. 

    Serve the seven-minute egg on toast, roasted veggies, spaghetti carbonara, beans, quesadillas, sauteed greens, polenta, fried potatoes, etc. In other words, anything.

    This same time, years previous: our oaf, the visit, a spat, and brandied-bacony roast chicken.

  • the Tuesday boost

    On Tuesday mornings, my mom comes over to help with the kids’ studies. Often she comes bearing a tin of donuts or a box of prunes. “For fortification,” she explains. I make her a cup of coffee or some tea. She sets up shop on the living room sofa, or at the art table, and I send kids to her for different tasks.

    This is the only morning of the week—aside from Friday—when all four kids are home, and it feels good to get in several solid hours of higher-quality-than-normal studies. Whereas I normally whip through the studies as fast as possible, my mother draws them out, enhancing the reading lesson with stories of her own, delving into the nitty-gritty of a math concept, or hashing out the theological issues of our national economics. Ever cheerful and upbeat, she’s much better at coaxing and cajoling than I am. (Which is funny because “cheerful” and “upbeat” are not adjectives I would’ve used to describe her when I was a homeschooling child under her ruling thumb.)

    For me, it’s a wonderful reprieve to have someone else hold the flash cards and listen to the reading lessons. And it’s a nice break for the kids, too, to have someone else explain the same concepts from a fresh perspective, or at least in a different, less-weary voice.

    Most days, Mom stays for lunch. Sometimes she’ll linger into rest time and I’ll make coffee and we’ll visit. Or sometimes, like this week, she’ll take a kid or two home with her for the afternoon.

    It’s such a gift, having the parenting support be so concrete. It means the world.

    Thanks, Mom.

    This same time, years previous: applied mathematics, maple pecan scones, a list, the quotidian (3.26.12), fatira, whoopie pies, smoky fried chickpeas, snickerdoodles, and Happy Birthday, Happy Pappy!