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Okay. I have almost 10 gallons of plum must in primary fermentation. Translation: I have squished nearly 20 gallons of plums into broken, wet masses, and compacted them almost to 10 gallons, and I have set them to fermenting in big plastic buckets bought from restaurants for a dollar, with nutrients and yeast and sugar, and now my kitchen is full of vinegar flies. Along about now a day or two from now the kitchen will begin to smell of raw alcohol and decaying fruit. Just in time for the young man to return from New York.
I have three gallons of wine from last year in its last settling, with bentonite clay to draw off the sediment. Next weekend I bottle. Fifteen bottles, maybe? At least a dozen. Next year, more like two dozen.
I lost a couple of gallons of apple juice due to the Breaking Glass Syndrome -- if there's something glass in my house it will be broken. This time it wasn't by me, but I gloat not. Anyway, the apple tree will be full of huge ripe apples again in a couple of weeks, so we'll do the hard cider thing then.
I have dried six pounds of plums into a quart of yummy purple sweet-tart chip things. I am now doing the same thing with apples. Come Christmas, I will make fruitcakes with the dried fruit in them.
Yesterday we found out that we're not fond of Nagasaki-style saraudon, and that I am still inordinately fond of miso soup with soba (buckwheat noodles). Tonight I have tiny onions which I am going to cook very slowly in oil until they are tiny globes of goodness and then we will put them on to baked potatoes. And we will have long beans and we will have beast.
And then -- well, I'm dragging the kid to the practice competition even though she wants to go to bed at 8:30 -- she'll get in bed by 9:15, anyway. But she has to do something to prepare for the real competition Friday. Which is when Frank gets home, at the same time as she has to compete, so Ted will pick him up while Emma and I deal with Pleasanton.
The kids sounded very good when they debuted their new march tune for the band mommies Saturday night, especially considering they'd only been working on it for a few days and didn't know it very well.
Oh, and I wrote 52 words today.
"Some days are diamond, some days are stone . . ."
I have three gallons of wine from last year in its last settling, with bentonite clay to draw off the sediment. Next weekend I bottle. Fifteen bottles, maybe? At least a dozen. Next year, more like two dozen.
I lost a couple of gallons of apple juice due to the Breaking Glass Syndrome -- if there's something glass in my house it will be broken. This time it wasn't by me, but I gloat not. Anyway, the apple tree will be full of huge ripe apples again in a couple of weeks, so we'll do the hard cider thing then.
I have dried six pounds of plums into a quart of yummy purple sweet-tart chip things. I am now doing the same thing with apples. Come Christmas, I will make fruitcakes with the dried fruit in them.
Yesterday we found out that we're not fond of Nagasaki-style saraudon, and that I am still inordinately fond of miso soup with soba (buckwheat noodles). Tonight I have tiny onions which I am going to cook very slowly in oil until they are tiny globes of goodness and then we will put them on to baked potatoes. And we will have long beans and we will have beast.
And then -- well, I'm dragging the kid to the practice competition even though she wants to go to bed at 8:30 -- she'll get in bed by 9:15, anyway. But she has to do something to prepare for the real competition Friday. Which is when Frank gets home, at the same time as she has to compete, so Ted will pick him up while Emma and I deal with Pleasanton.
The kids sounded very good when they debuted their new march tune for the band mommies Saturday night, especially considering they'd only been working on it for a few days and didn't know it very well.
Oh, and I wrote 52 words today.
"Some days are diamond, some days are stone . . ."
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