Home Cooking, Comfort Food

There are certain things that I really miss from home, so when I found a nice bunch of green tomatoes well you know I just had to turn them into fried green tomatoes.  This isn’t a common thing, not where I live and definitely not something Beloved grew up with.  He won’t even touch them because they are unrepentant tomatoes battered in heavenly cornmeal and fried nice and crisp.  But to me, a few of those and I’m sitting on a porch back home.  Put that with some nicely barbecued meat and some cold iced tea and we are all set, only don’t forget the peach cobbler!

Beloved loves peach cobbler and has happily admitted to an iced tea lemonade addiction not to mention raspberry lemonade addictions as well.  He will pass on the sweet corn casseroles, biscuits and fried chicken.  And yet the man will happily consume chicken fried steak.  (He’s a bit of a work in progress but aren’t we all.)

So I fried some tomatoes, well correction Beloved had to help because lupus is lending a helping hand, the kind that makes my hands not work as well as they should.  He then crisped some bacon, made a spicy mayo and toasted buns for fried green tomato po’boys.  Or in his case bacon on a toasted bun with cheese, lettuce and regular mayo.

We settled on sweet, juicy watermelon for a snack later on.  I’m feeling a little less away from home right now and it should last for a bit.  This means tomorrow’s meals will be from different places to create a new adventure.  And judging from the way Beloved has looked at me, not to mention the visible red cheeks, Beloved will be doing all the cooking.  But it’s okay lupus will not prevent me from watching him cook and it was worth it for a taste that brought me back home for a little bit

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Artful Compromise

He came in with his arms filled with all sorts of things, I could just make out a small bouquet of flowers amongst everything else. Everything else was composed of boxes, bags and a strange rectangular item.

The rectangle turned out to be a small piece of art that had managed to catch his eye while he was walking through a market some where.

Art is an emotional thing, you know instinctively if you like something or not because of how it speaks to you. Art is also personal for those same reasons.

I’m not going to deny the piece he brought me caught my eye, however not for the same reason it caught his. It was probably one of the strangest bits of work I’ve ever seen. I wondered why it caught his eye and where he thought it would work anyways.

It wasn’t the first artful mistake either, we’ve both messed up in the department. I don’t know why either of us assumed that drawings and paintings would speak to us in the same way when we have such different tastes in music and the written word. To that end there are clearly bits of art that are mine and some that are his and then there is what we call the disaster area. It isn’t really a disaster, it’s just that it doesn’t work for our tastes, it’s more or less a compromise that one of us assumed the other would enjoy. A compromise that did not really work for either of us nor the house.

Probably the strangest piece we own is a mask type bit of art. It is a face, decidedly female looking, that has been painted in paisley swirls with random bits of rhinestone and foil here and there. He placed it on a bookshelf, as if it’s peeking out at us and now and then I put a rather large book in front of the face, to hide it. She was a gift, someone thought she suited us both to a T, I’m not sure how or why, but well there she is.

I’m sure to someone she is lovely, a masterpiece even, but to us she is a mystery.