The cats are back to eating on schedule but I'm not sure they like it 'cause it means no more midnight meals. The plants are also being watered on schedule and I'm quite sure they like it. I only lost two this year to neglect. The oregano died and the old leggy geranium is no longer with me, but at least I didn't lose the expensive Crown of Thorns.
I'm eating on schedule as well. So odd to prepare dinners in the evening. Well, dinners for me. And last night I roasted a chunk of grouper in my pristine oven. Pristine because it hadn't been used since ... I think it was Mother's Day when I baked my mom Crème Brulée.
I have a mountain of menus proposals to produce in the next few days and rental RFPs to send out. Still so much work to do but it's time to pack. Because it's November and November means a trip across country for a visit with my sister and brother-in-law. We have Thanksgiving together every year but the bird isn't the highlight of the trip; it's the time spent with my sister on a remote Pacific Northwest island, indulging ourselves in that year's gastronomic curiosities. And not much else because there's no agenda, no calendar, no clocks, no obligations. 'Cept to eat all that we've brought with us before it spoils.
The view.
The oysters: Kumomoto, Quilcene, Belon and Penn Cove. And my sister's skilled hands.
Himachi and Tuna on Himalayan Salt Block.
The Dungeness Crab.
White Asparagus with Chanterelles and Shitakes in garlicky, thyme-y butter.
One of a couple of clear sunsets: this one the night before we left.
Remains of Thanksgiving Apple Tart
