I teetered back and forth about being the first to step up to the mike here, (couldn’t you have waited till the blog was cold,at least?) but I feel chaos brewing; what with orionoir and ‘mouse threatening to make this all about ‘porn and chicken’. Sort of a preemptive strike even though I am woefully unprepared for it. Fortunately, ‘woefully unprepared’ is the story of my life. But, I’ve been staring at the pink and yellow for a while, trying to get into it. Be easy with me guys, I’m new here. Really I am. The pictures that I took for you are still stuck in the ancient mechanism of roll film. Suffice it to say that I did make it to the beach today with the kids. That long and winding road bordered by cypress stumps and pine trees interspersed with megalomaniacal subdivisions doing their best to ‘blend in’ with huge pompous signs announcing completely ambiguous and generic names like ‘Key Vista’. We did a once around the nature trail, where things looked completely empty except for one large white van with tinted windows. Not to say I’m getting smarter in my old age, but I’m getting more paranoid. About a quarter of a mile down the road was the fishing pier, which met my approval with just one group of straggling oldmen in city uniforms lingering about loudly. At the very end of the winding stretch of grey board BigNick perched himself atop the communal fish cleaning table and decided that he didn’t want to leave. ‘I wanna fish. I wanna fish.’ He is undeniable sore at having to spend any more time amongst me and his sister, and tried soliciting help from one skinny fellow in a ball cap that seemed to swallow his head. I wonder how everyone just automatically knows that his name is ‘Buddy’ in reality.
I came here specifically, that is, to inform you all that I’m the Forrest Gump of cooking. I could regale you with tales of nectarine cobbler gone wrong made with a botched batch of peanut butter cookies from the night before. I could tell you I baked for hours last night while the air conditioner kicked into third gear and the temp outside hoovered around 93. Suffice it to say, I’ve got the fever. Lookout innocent foodstuffs.
But I know a place for sweets, deep in the heart of Tarpon Springs. Be sure to bang the sand off the bottoms of your sandals before you climb back in the car though. That stuff’s a bitch to get outta carpet. Sorry that it’s not Epiphany time, because o- that is a little slice of heaven. I’ve had dreams about putting that cross on a leather strap around my neck and just letting them bob for me… but that’s neither here nor there, is it? I feel like a hypocrit, telling orionoir and ‘mouse to hold it down when here i am tempting and teasing you with the plan of a rather pedestrian baklava-orgy…
Love,
Goliard