Uncomplicated Pleasure

“Food is our common ground.” James Beard
No, its not an Airstream trailer. It's the barbecue of my husband's dreams. Stainless steel grates and infrared heat to sear the juices in the meat.

In my dreams was the decoratively demure enamel clad cooker. Such models in a brand trustworthy to be around when parts need to be replaced is against every economic ethic. So my husband won this battle.

This is a story that ends with the pleasure possible in surrender. Our visual aesthetic may differ: but food is our common ground.



Food does not have to be complicated to be a feast.



Last night the Italian sausage were marinated in just a tiny bit of red wine.

The red stems of chard were sauteed in a bit of butter and olive oil. The chopped leaves added a minute later with a ladle of chicken broth. When the leaves were just beginning to wilt, it was splashed with red wine vinegar and pulled off the heat.

Soothing comfort was provided the tongue by the oozing of fresh mozzarella cheese stirred into a simmering hot pot of polenta.

Baby Portabella mushrooms made their own sauce when warmed in a tiny bit of butter with leaves pulled off a stem of thyme.

A simple salad added the crispness to the meal we can now feel in autumn air. Humble iceberg lettuce, an heirloom tomato and green onion are the humble trinity that is the base of our "house salad". Tossed in was just what was on hand in the refrigerator: sliced olives, chopped egg and sunflower seeds. Uncommon richness was added by a basil chiffonade of few leaves plucked from the waning wands in the garden.

I suppose we could have gone out for a Friday night on the town. But no meal could have been better than the one enjoyed on my own patio, with my husband, with our garden at hand. No grand bouquet more appreciated than the glow of Betty Boop roses in the moonlight.