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"Chicken; pastry; cream; cucumber..."

I stabbed my big toe tonight on the steel blade for the Cuisinart. It’s really not so complicated as it sounds, or else I would explain. The pesto smells luscious, and that’s all that matters.

I’m now taking contributions to buy a roasting pan, dear readers. My birthday is barely over a month away, and I’ll be ringing in the big two-six. 25 was a solid number: a quarter, a silver anniversary, the square of five. But 26 feels round and smooth, full of possibilities for adding, dividing, multiplying. And I’m already behind in the meat-roasting game; women of previous generations would be well on their way to spinsterdom for such shortcomings. I’ve got work to do. I’ve got my eye on an All-Clad roaster in the Williams-Sonoma catalog, but I’ve got to actually get myself to the store and hold the thing in my little hands to know for sure. I think I should have a V-shaped roasting rack to go with. And an instant-read thermometer. And trussing string. And that chicken down the street. Oh, winter! Roasted chicken with Brussels sprouts and chestnuts!

[Thank you, Gertrude Stein, for the title.]


Blogger Nicole said...

Amazing! Gertrude Stein! I can't believe you mention her. When I was 26 (oh how I still wish I were), a short lived friend and I planned to start an underground paper entitled "Where is Gertrude Stein?" We felt there had to be others who wished for a salon... a place to gather and talk and eat and drink. If you didn't know who she was... there was no way you could enter.

10:06 PM, February 19, 2008  
Anonymous Aku said...

Oh, Molly. This post made me feel all warm and glorious and all old and ragged at the same time! (At the ripe old age of 27, I feel the glory years are over. Oh to be 25, or 26 again! Or better still, 24. I do like the ring of 24. Old enough but still young enough, for all of life and being able to harness its possibilities...)

4:38 AM, December 21, 2010  

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