Two Cobblers and A Tart.

If it wasn't Thanksgiving, and my husband wasn't rubbing his belly and groaning when he said it ("two cobblers and a tart"), I would have thought he was talking about some new British comedy.

I cook, Dennis (husband) does the dishes.  Being that he had to work on Friday, it was his idea to go out (no dishes, and I can't blame him, I hate doing dishes).  And he promised me I could make sauerkraut for him this week.  And I suppose our arteries could use a year off from my stuffing. 

Denny found this place.  On the Greorge Mason U campus, there is a brand new hotel, and in it is a beautiful restaurant. Floor to ceiling windows looking out into the surrounding woods. Soothing, modern decor, warm in color, minimal in design. And a fantastic looking Thanksgiving menu.

Dennis was sooooo happy about the gorgeous glazed ham.

This might have been D's third plate.  He missed the biscuits on his first two passes and when he found them, they were merely a new vehicle for that ham he was lovin' on.

The spectacular Executive Chef said to us, you're not DONE, are you?? 

Only with our second plate, we said.  And we couldn't wait for those gorgeous desserts.

 Chef is also a golfer and frequenter of his local Fredricksburg, Virginia farmers' market (which I will definitely be visiting soon).  He has a great smile and table-side manner.

Meet My Husband

You know that commercial with the stick figure man and woman who gain weight and turn into little round circles, and then they go on a diet and the guy turns into a stick figure again, but the woman is still round?  Yeah, that's us. 

 

This is my husband's dinner, every night.  After nearly a year, he's getting bored, even with salad this pretty.  Sometimes with a huge side of saturated fat meat and cheese. 

I don't know if it is because he is supremely disciplined, or OCD or a little of both.  This salad (always) is: one bag of Romaine, sliced Campari tomatoes and his own carefully tested mix of oil and vinegar.  He mixes it up like Shake-n-Bake, in a Ziploc bag while he walks around the living room, chatting with me.  

The suit he wore at our wedding (4 1/2 years ago, oh my!) is really baggy on him, and he was slim then.  I don't really notice or care, probably because I have a big ol fashioned crush on him. Have ever since the day we met six years ago come this Thanksgiving. 

Back to the farmers' markets for me this weekend!  Will report in with what to buy next weekend!

Much love,

JPV

Of Cooking and CAT Scans: Thanksgiving 2010

My mom (that's her beautiful self to the left, with baby tree-climbing Moroccan goat) was supposed to come to DC to visit for Thanksgiving.  A few days after she returned to Boston from our girl bonding trip all over Morocco, she came down with pneumonia (that's her in Morocco, a day pre-pneumonia).  More on that elsewhere (and the goat in the tree behind Mom.  For real.  Not. A. Joke).  Our wonderful friends Mary and Stilly invited us to Thanksgiving at their house, very close to ours.  Hubby and I met on Thanksgiving Day and got engaged 15 days later so we consider it our true anniversary.  This year makes five years (eeee so cool!!).  Mom was supposed to celebrate with us.

Instead, the day before, she went to see her doctor at Mass General who promptly admitted her. My reaction to this is not to cry or scream or freak, rather, I felt overwhelmed with exhaustion and literally wanted to curl up in a ball and go to sleep on the floor of my office.  Ditto next day, Thanksgiving, 10:30 AM when 1.  I hear how scared she is, 2. CAT scan showed fluid around lung and heart and a problem with her liver.  This time I freaked.  Called hubby on golf course.  I thought.

Hubby is Jr. 

I called Sr. By mistake.

Who I later found out thought his oldest son had been in some horrible accident.  Smart man, handed phone to wife, my glorious mother in law.  She is not just an R.N. The woman runs hospital E.R.s.  Rides in choppers.  Medical and managerial badass.  Talked me off ledge.  Didn’t even bother hubby on golf course.  Set about to chopping.  Very therapeutic.  Before that, I went through over my entire iTunes library and every some I clicked on every song that made me smile AND made me feel good, like I wanted to dance.  If I could.  Even though I can’t. (Listening now, loooove it).

Played music, made Mom’s dressing with my tweaks, and her sauerkraut, also tweaked for hubby.  I eat the former, but not the latter. 

Yup, that’s the Thanksgiving story.  Finally spoke with Mom and her attending physician (so very Grey’s), who explained how they were ruling out all sorts of things (bad things, this is where I started rooting hard for infection, any infection, bacterial or viral; I’ll take it over lupus or rheumatism). 

Happy Thanksgiving!! (That's a shot I took of Mom in Morocco a few weeks ago.  Did I mention she's 71?  Just wanted to see if you read to the end, kidding!! But I bet you're going to check out that close up pic at the top ... I would.)