My name is Lisetta and I have not been cooking. At all. Not a bit. Unless I can count toasting sprouted grain bread. I actually stopped by the grocery store last night on my way home from dinner with my family, but bought only fruit, flowers and olives: favorite ingredients that won’t exactly augur a week of fine cooking.
My family’s in town this weekend for my nephew’s confirmation, so we all went out to this historic inn tonight way way out in the exurbs, where there appears to be no recession. The place was jam packed.
Though around since 1736, entering meant travelling back to the 70’s, where the host sits behind a podium and the bowl of butter mints is always full. The menu included several items stuffed with crab meat, more hollandaise sauce than I’ve ever seen on any menu anywhere. The portions were insane: 32-40 oz. prime rib, 24 oz. porterhouse, 14 oz. lobster tail.
As far as I remember, there was only one menu item even remotely “Italian” -zucchini in marinara. I enjoyed it served alongside a baked potato and baked sea bass. Zucchini is always my center of attention, after all.
We headed back to my sister’s place where my nieces played on the swings and my nephews played baseball with tennis balls. Hitting a few balls brought back lots of fond memories of summertimes past. How quickly space and time fade with simple pleasures.
Why is it that when my sister invites me out to her place, I only manage to remember this: