Saturday, January 29, 2011

Duck eggs

Had to go to Baltimore for work for a few days and decided it was a good excuse to take a few weeks off from writing. Do more reading, less writing, a bit of replenishing. I reread the third volume of the Ring Trilogy. It was harder to follow than I remembered. Trying to track the geography on the map is slow going.

But that's not what this blog entry is about. Instead, I figured I'd spend some time blathering on about what I've been cooking and eating. In case my vast readership of three subscribers is interested.

I found duck eggs at the new bakery at Lynnwood Center on Bainbridge Island. They looked enormous and delicious and worth every cent of the 75 cents apiece that I paid for them. (Is that a good price? It seems reasonable enough for humanely raised eggs from a species other than chicken.)

Several friends on Facebook pointed out how important it is to keep the yolk runny. It's very rich. You may read some ambiguous (or downright negative) words about the yolks on the Internet. I suppose it depends on what the ducks have been eating. But these yolks were delicious, and yes, I cooked them runny. Here is the recipe:

It is so easy, and it gives a very precise time suggestion for cooking the eggs (based on size). So it's fairly fool proof. And very amusing to read, as well.

Saturday, January 15, 2011

Journal Entry 08/10/06

At the Island recycling Center this weekend, I observed a remarkably handsome man (though not nearly as handsome, of course, as my hunky partner Kurt). This man was tall, bald (with blond hair on the sides) and a plain white camp shirt unbuttoned part way down. It showed the hair on his chest, not that I was looking. He flashed a sexy smile, which of course was disconcerting since I was conscientiously not looking, due to the fact that I'm a happily married man. I wondered what Kurt thought of him and made a mental note to ask him when we got back into the car.

When I got my bin of recyclables out of the back of the car, he was gone, and his car was gone--and yet, no car had left the parking area during that time. So clearly, he was never there in a physical, bodily sense. I can't help wondering, therefore, what he actually was--a ghost? An elemental of some sort? A spirit? Or just a figment of my imagination?

I don't think he was a spirit, because he exuded some kind of sexual magnetism, whereas a spirit I think of as something more heady, abstract. I think I'd probably go with a ghost. But I'm positive he was there--and then, he wasn't. Makes you want to read A.S. Byatt, doesn't it? Rather disconcerting, to be truthful.

Big Lies

Yeah, okay, I haven't been writing and I haven't been blogging. Just working, Gawd help me. And that doesn't bring us any closer to publication, does it? And how do you write a novel when you can't work on it every day and consequently can't get as intimate with your characters as you would if you spent time with them every day. So what's the solution? Switching to poetry? Short-short stories? Read more and forget about writing? Or keep trying to squeeze more time out of the day? Anyway, I'm sorry I lied in December and said I would start writing and blogging again.
But I'm saying it again, and hoping that, this time, it'll be true.