When the Washington Post put up its paywall, I spent a few weeks reading via links while I tried to figure out the best way to get digital access. Then the solution arrived right through my mail slot on a postcard: Sundays-only subscription for $27 (first year) includes digital access. Perfect! Until next year, of course, but I will worry about that later. But I have all these paper pieces that I don't normally read. I'm sure I will become inured to them in time but for now I can not ignore them. I must look at every coupon, at least scan the car ads, and—this might be the first to go—read Parade, the floppy insert magazine of airy non-news. My first foray since maybe junior high into this rag reminded me why I'd taken so long a break: it is dopey. I kept reading, though, and found an intriguing recipe for City Grocery Bloody Marys. I thought that could be my contribution to a brunch J was planning for Saturday morning.
If you look at the recipe, you see it has lots of stuff going on. I needed pickled okra, so I pickled some okra. The very same night I chose to do this, V used a handheld ironing device to straighten her hair. If your household ever decides to pickle and straighten simultaneously, I suggest a well-ventilated venue.
I kept an eye on the jar in the fridge: my pickled okra! C was at the house one day that week and I revealed my plan for the brunch (he was coming, too). "I hate bloody marys," he informed me. I tried to convince him that they were delicious, like a glass full of salad with alcohol. He was not convinced that this sounded delicious at all, but he did agree to look at my jar of pickled okra in the fridge. That didn't impress him, either.
Friday J ate dinner at our house and then I had to test the drink. I put the bloody mary ingredients together, chilled them, popped open the pickled okra jar to assemble my first skewer of City Grocery Bloody Mary garnishes, arranged a glass and took my first sip. It was awful. I didn't believe myself: I took another sip. No, it was truly a terrible drink. I thought perhaps I could salvage a remnant of this experience: I ate a pickled okra. THEY'RE TERRIBLE, TOO! Parade, I could not hate you more.
The week wasn't a total waste: V completed her first week of school without anything horrible happening, we hung out with some kid friends one evening and managed to feed four people for $0.63 at the Silver Diner in Greenbelt, I donated the pickup truck to the fire department just in time to avoid a huge fine from the MVA, we watched some of the North American Chinese Volleyball Tournament as well as a midnight showing of Space Jam (very fun), and we returned J's mattress to IKEA for a firmer one. I vow to complete 2013 without setting my butt in another U-Haul vehicle. Wish me luck!
And in lieu of a beverage contribution, V and I brought a rainbow cake to brunch. It was supposed to be a pre-Space Jam snack, but we couldn't wait that long to see how it looked inside:
I'll bet I would have forgotten most of this in a couple of years, except for the pickled okra part. WRITE IT DOWN.