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cold day pici
Saturday, January 23 2021
For Saturday morning coffee, I opened up a fresh bag of coffee ("Hot Cup o' Joe") from a Joe-Biden-themed advent calendar Janine had assembled for us when we'd recently been in Virginia. The coffee was a french roast that was so dark that the beans looked like they'd been dipped in used motor oil. Gretchen was still playing a high-yield game of New York Times Spelling Bee, one of whose panagrams was "eviction" (with "i" in the middle), and she had only reached a level of "amazing." She always wants to at least make it to "genius," and after finding about ten more words we were. Then we could play today's Spelling Bee, whose panagram was "weighted" (with "h" in the middle).
The fireplace made things nice and toasty in the living room, but outside we were having the coldest day so far this winter. Despite this, I made several forays south of the house to both cut and retrieve firewood. This wood was so close, it hardly made sense to load it into a backpack, but I did bring home one pack of semi-rotten sugar maple (and what wasn't rotten was full of worm holes).
It well into the afternoon before I decided to give the dogs a walk, as Gretchen was reluctant to leave the confort of the living room. But then only Neville went with me; evidently it was too cold for Ramona. But then Gretchen took Ramona on her own separate walk.
This evening Gretchen made pici pasta with a garlic & mushroom sauce. Pici, for those who don't remember, is a thick, rough-tectured spaghetti from Tuscany. After eating and loving it several times in Montepulciano, we expected never to see it again until we returned to Italy. But now you can get it at Adams, one of the better local supermarkets. Unfortunately, the pici ended up a bit too al-dente and garlicky. (It takes over 20 minutes to cook, which is a long time for a pasta.)
Neville pissing along the Farm Road on our walk this afternoon.
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