I feel like my pandemic feelings are running out. Not sure why. The numbers aren't good, and we're heading into autumn, which is tricky. But I've run out of worry. Or maybe I'm just tired. There's been a lot going on, and my cooking this week is fortunately reflective of a busy, but good, approach to the week.
For example, chunk up a load of abundant stone fruit. Cook it for 15-20 minutes with a bit of vinegar, sugar and oil. Season.
Serve with mozzarella, basil and in theory oven-toasted bread, but in practice just toast.
Or a wicked but excellent lemon cream sauce for linguine, which you can make while the pasta cooks even if it's semi-fresh stuff, so needs 3 minutes to cook. You need to silence your conscience as you mix egg yolk, mascarpone, cream, parmesan and butter (it's a Nigella originally I think) with lemon zest and juice - warming it over the boiling water pan just enough to melt it all together, and stirring the pasta enthusiastically into the sauce after. Serve with basil and black pepper. Is very good.
It's so quick, I made it each night rather than warming it up the second night in my usual style. Except on the second night, I was tired and distracted enough that I forgot to add the lemon... till I tasted it. Luckily, you can salvage it by just squeezing the hell out of a lemon over the creamy mess. This is the good aspect of simple food.
Tonight? Scrambled eggs with a tomato.
I don't know. I don't think I'm doing stupid things. Masks and sanitiser are still my friends. I'm still keeping a distance. Maybe I'll get the fear again, especially if things turn bad again. But right now, I seem to be too tired for terror. Which I *think* is a good thing?
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