Flog #0001
Maybe don't ask about Thursday
Saturday: Grilled peaches with gorgonzola, mint, and hot honey, inspired by this recipe for grilled nectarines. Instead of hazelnuts I used pecans because pecans are cheaper here in the South. Or maybe hazelnuts are just nutso expensive everywhere. These were fabulous – the flesh of the peaches had that heightened floral fragrance that usually comes from baking, but they also had a hit of smokiness that’s a hallmark of summer. These could have used some prosciutto tucked between the peaches and maybe a bed of arugula to nestle on, but the lack of anything else just made us eat as many of these beauties as we could pound down.
Sunday: Fried chicken thighs, sliced tomatoes, and speckled butter beans. A dinner for my husband and me (we share a birthday) cooked by loved ones and much enjoyed, especially because I got to take home a crazy amount of leftover chicken.
Monday: Heirloom tomato and watermelon salad with charred corn (aside leftover chicken). Inspired by similar salad at Mr. Crisp. Had no idea where to find the fabulous tiny baby cream peas they used so I subbed black-eyed peas. Also subbed feta for ricotta salata because, strangely, I couldn’t find it in my usual non-gourmet, non-Whole Foods grocery store (Harris Teeter). Wondering where I bought ricotta salata last (have I bought it recently?) and low-key panicking that I might live in a city too small to support consumers of ricotta salata, a bunch that surely is a target of convention and visitors bureaus nationwide. Put “ricotta salata” on the list of reasons to consider moving in the next two years.
Tuesday: Bacon corn pasta. Basically this recipe from Smitten Kitchen, but with cherry tomatoes, a dollop of mascarpone, and cubes of fresh mozzarella added, as well as more of everything – a full pound of pasta, more corn, more bacon, more green onions. It’s a great platform for the stars of the season (tomatoes and corn) but what I really love about this recipe is its bursting palooza of textures and crunchiness. Use a fun pasta to get the maximum mouth entertainment. (I used tubetti.)
Wednesday: Rice-stuffed tomatoes. The growing season starts early in the South, so while most of the country is just now enjoying the height of tomato season, we’re starting to wind down. So I’m living La Vita Pomodoro over here until they’re no more. These were excellent: The rice was heavily strewn with basil and the tomatoes all wore crunchy hats of parm. Would make them nightly if my roommates permitted (alas). I’m not ready for a time when my kitchen doesn’t smell of basil.
Thursday: Nothing. I didn’t cook but I didn’t order out/take out, so a win. There was leftover pasta and stuffed tomatoes, and I think the others augmented with chips and guac; I’m not sure. What was I doing instead of laboring to nourish my family? I was obsessively refreshing my email and Recently Viewed tab to glean any intel about the status of an application for a job no longer publicly listed and for which I had undergone four interviews and a take-home task. When I say obsessively, here’s how you can trust my use of the word: I pulled up the help docs of the recruiting software this company uses to find out if I’d be able to determine if the role was closed or archived, looked back in my emails to see how closed and open jobs rendered differently in the URL; and then pored over the company’s careers page code in the inspector, looking to see if I could tell if the role I applied for was filled or if the company simply wasn’t accepting new applications. Not only was I unsuccessful in getting any answer that would allow me to fall asleep or stay asleep Thursday night, I was unsuccessful in my ultimate goal of securing the job at all, as communicated through the email I was dreading which came Friday morning. It was kind of a once-in-a-lifetime role with a company I have enormous respect for and I would have had the chance to work with a Twitter celeb-adjacent high-achieving set of “my people,” an opportunity that is becoming more and more rare as my niche of journalist turned writer who writes online who’s also a software dev specializing in entrepreneurship and productivity grows ever more narrow. My disappointment at being rejected is only surpassed by my fear that I may have depleted my lifetime allotment of bounce-back. I don’t think I have any more “I’ll get ‘em next time” left in my tank, and my faith that I can regroup and refocus my drive on a similarly worthy path to fulfillment is lower than it’s ever been. So no, I didn’t make dinner Thursday night.
Friday: Still sad. Ordered a margarita pizza and a spinach salad with peaches, goat cheese, red onions, and candied pecans. Hard to feel too bad about not cooking when the salad is stellar and the pizza dough is made in house.
Grade: 6/7. (For the sake of grading, I decree that leftovers count as not ordering takeout and therefore = cooking.)