Sunny Yummy

This week was perhaps the prettiest week of the entire year. The weather, which to this point has been bi-polar, was suddenly freshly warm and sunny in a way that makes you think that summer should ideally be. An ideal "Summer feeling" for me would include 75 degrees, long flat avenues with trees, an occasional estate sale where you can find a really cool typewriter, and a frozen coffee in hand.

This week was that perfect week except for one catch: the plague hit my house. Yep, while squirrels were twirling on branches and birds were singing their lullaby tunes there was pestilence and illness in the four walls of my home. It descended upon us like a vacuum in an anthill and drew the living energy out of our home. In all fairness, I was in ripe health but my counterpart wasn't and I am discovering that I need to brush off my Clara Barton skills.

Details spared but it was a very sad sick week inside the house while outside Bambi skipped and Peter Rabbit chomped on his fresh summer carrots.

Right when it seemed that all in our house of illness was doomed there came a knock at the door. Ratt-a-tat-tat! Well, who could it possibly be? I peered though the curtains and saw a handsome robust guy standing there with a bright red apron wrapped over his stout belly. "I have come to cook for your birthday!" He boomed. I decided to send him on his way, cautiously opened the door and was pushed out of his way. He elbowed his way into the kitchen and announced that he had been summoned by my husband. Well, well, well. This was a surprise indeed considering that my sweet lamb had been going into his 28th hour of a trembling fever. The chef demanded that I get out of his way, not dare come in the kitchen and march upstairs for the next few hours. "GO!" he demanded.

I snagged this paparazzi picture before getting shoved out of my kitchen.

I tried to reason with this determined chef and convince him that I could easily go with my husband for a burger to Arthur's Pub, but my voice was small and unheard by the roaring sound of 8 eggs being viciously beaten in a bowl and fire blazing in a pan.

Reluctantly I climbed the stairs and nestled myself into a chair to read Agatha Christie's "Partners in Crime." I sat with the cats and read.

Reading makes El Gordo sleepy.

A few hours later I felt El Gordo budge on my right foot, Bentley did his usual yawn/wimper for food and I decided to tip-toe downstairs to the basement to give the kittens some food. Et voila! What was this that I saw? A feast of all of my favorite dishes! "GET OUT OF THE KITCHEN!" hollered the chef. I scampered to the basement and fed the kittens then cautiously went back up the stairs unsure of what I would encounter.


As I neared the top of the stairs the smells were tantalizing. The chef threw the door open and glared at me. "You ready to eat." he stated, and I assumed it was a question. "Yes?" I answered not sure if I should be ready or not. "Sit down and don't get in the way." I sat down and looked at my husband who took a seat in front of me. He looked happy with the food of the chef.

Prosciutto e melone antipasto...mmmm

In fact, it was delicious.

When on meds, coke in a wine glass is equally fancy. 

Fettuccini pescatore. I can't describe it. Looking at the picture now is making me so hungry...

Pièce de résistance: baba. A Neapolitan rum cake. It disappeared in 12 hours. 

We ate and drank for hours and I have to say it was one of the best meals of my life. The wild energy channeled through Vicks Vapor rub to bust out a meal like this merits the culinary prize of the year!

And some extra whipped cream in my coffee for breakfast. 

After all, calories never count on birthdays!