You are currently browsing the monthly archive for June 2008.
Golden Trout Salad
- Golden trout filets
- Peaches, halved and pitted
- Yukon Gold potatoes, sliced into 1/4 inch slices
- Mixed salad greens (I used butter lettuce and arugula)
- Olive Oil
- Vinegar (I used sherry vinegar)
- Dijon mustard
- Generous handful of fresh herbs (I used basil and oregano)
- Lemon, sliced thinly
- salt, pepper
Broil peach halves until hot through and browned on top. Set aside to cool. Bring a pot of salted water to the boil, add potato slices and cook until they are just done. Meanwhile, make a vinaigrette from olive oil, mustard, salt, pepper, and vinegar. When the potatoes are done, drain and toss in a bowl with a generous amount of the vinaigrette.
Take a roasting pan and lightly coat it with olive oil. Lay the fresh herbs out in an even layer that is the same size as the area of the trout filets. Put the lemon slices on top. Salt and pepper the trout and put skin-side-up on the herbs, then lightly brush the skin with olive oil. Put under the broiler until just done.
Meanwhile, slice the peaches and toss the greens with the remaining vinaigrette. Arrange a bed of greens on the plate, top with the still-warm potatoes, and garnish with the peach slices. When the trout is done, leave the herbs and lemon behind, and place the filets on the salad. Serve it forth!
I was knitting away on a sock for Summer of Socks, and glanced out the window. There seemed to be something furry in the tree, and peering more closely revealed that it was a raccoon, settled in for the late afternoon. But then
it seemed like there were more ears and heads than you might expect one raccoon to have
and indeed, it was two: a young mother and kit.
No, we don’t leave pet food outside, and don’t want to actively encourage them to stay. But they are darned cute.
I don’t remember growing older
When did they?
When did she get to be a beauty?
When did he get to be so tall?
Wasn’t it yesterday
When they were small?
Swiftly flow the days
Seedlings turn overnight to sunflowers
Blossoming even as we gaze
—From Fiddler on the Roof, lyrics by Sheldon Harnick
My daughter and youngest child, Alex, graduated from high school Saturday. My Sunrise Socks were finished a few days days ago, and were just the right thing to wear.
This is now a season of last and first things: last high school play, last time getting up to make a 7:30 class, last day of school, last child getting ready to leave home: in September, the first time with no children under my roof for weeks on end, first time in a zillion years with no parent meetings or school volunteer needs.
But perhaps not the last time for a student to hug a favorite teacher.
And why were those socks exactly the right thing to wear? Because their colors are graduated, of course.
You may recall my struggles with these socks, which I called Suitcase Socks, with the promise of an explanation later. They were made for a dear friend who on was the list for a liver transplant, and intended to go into his take-to-the-hospital suitcase. Designed to be soft, warm, stretchy, to keep feet warm in a chilly and stressful place and time — hospitals are always a little chilly, I find — and then be good for padding about during a long recovery period. Dear Friend (hereafter known as DF — it’s not for me to disclose his medical information along with his name) came up to visit along with his wife (also Dear), arriving yesterday morning.
After a day of visiting, we all settled in to sleep, and were awakened around midnight by a call: A liver was available, and if he could be at his transplant center by noon it was his. Calls to airlines, a strategic meal and hydration schedule, a power nap until 3:30am, then a swift ride to the airport got them on the first flight out of Seattle. Somewhere before the eggs and English muffin, I remembered the socks, and presented them for duty. DF was amazed that there were no seams at the toes, thanks to Judy’s Magic Cast-On, and appreciated the subtle nod to the Aubrey-Maturin books we both love, in that the cables on the sides of the socks are both cable and hawser-laid. And into the suitcase they went.
We returned from the airport in the pearly dawn, and I saw that the indoor cyclamen from Thanksgiving had popped open the first flowers from its reblooming.
A new beginning, a new day, thanks to the simple act by another man and his family designating him an organ donor. I hope you’ll consider taking that step, too.