To bitterlawngnome

Wishes for a happy birthday, Bill, and a relaxing holiday.

Big snow

Last night we had our heaviest snowfall of the season so far. The temperature has risen to near freezing, but is expected to get very cold again by the end of the week.

Blue Camaro



The pond



Cajoling myself down to the Eramosa is always difficult this time of year, and it is always worthwhile.

New England clam chowder; Shrimp scampi

In a previous life, or perhaps a different universe, ghostsandrobots and I must have been twins conjoined at the brain. We have serious neural entanglement issues. I met her in missprune's or anoisblue's journal and since then we keep crossing mental paths. Like the time we discovered we had both written about cicadas in the same day. I can't begin to count the times one of us has been thinking about some semi-obscure thing only to discover that the other has been writing about it. Our lives run some parallels, too.

Today it's clam chowder. I planned to make it for lunch, put it off until after my walk, came home from my walk, still didn't feel like cooking, then went online and discovered Zig had written about clam chowder in her free_write.

I don't even know whether she likes shellfish the way I do, but taste is not the point. This is about receiving on the same frequency.

I don't even believe in things like that. It can't possibly mean anything. It can't!

But let's just imagine it does mean something. What would that be? It means that if I don't make clam chowder for dinner I will be fatally stung by a rare, poisonous cicada on August 13, 2004. That's cicada season. I just looked to see if it's a Friday, and sure enough.

So here it is: another favourite recipe.

New England Clam Chowder

4 slices bacon
2 green onion, chopped
4 medium potatoes, peeled and chopped
3 Tbsp. flour
2 cups milk
¾ tsp. salt
½ Tbsp. white pepper
13 ounces clams, canned with liquid
1 cup whipping cream
parsley, chopped
basil, chopped

Use a large, heavy saucepan. Sauté bacon until crisp. Add the green onions and potatoes. Sauté for a few minutes. Sprinkle with flour. Add milk and stir to blend. Bring to a boil. Simmer, stirring, until poatoes are tender (20 minutes). Add salt and pepper. Add the clams with their liquid. Add the whipping cream. Heat the soup, stirring, just until simmering. Do not boil or clams will toughen. Sprinkle with parsley and basil leaves. Serve at once.

~~~~~

I'm enjoying a bowl now. Thanks for helping me get my universe sorted out today, Zig.

Lately I've been looking for inexpensive ways to incorporate more shellfish into my meals, since I love it so much. Here is a new recipe I tried last week and enjoyed. Done in the microwave, it's easy halve or quarter the recipe. I bought a small package of easy peal frozen black tiger shrimp and it will last for several meals.

Shrimp Scampi

1 lb. medium shirmp
½ cup butter or margarine
½ tsp. salt
½ Tbsp. finely chopped garlic or to taste
2 Tbsp. lemon juince
1 Tbsp. parsley flakes
Paprika (optional)

In a round baking dish, heat butter and garlic 1½ to 2 minutes on high until butter is melted. Add lemon juice, parlsey and salt; stir in shrimp. Heat, covered, 4 to 5 minutes on power level 7 until shrimp is thoroughly pink, stirring once. Let stand covered 5 minutes; sprinkle with paprkia before serving. Serves 4.

Two men playing pool

The -bar is attempting to host a Pride Night at 10 p.m. on Sundays and last night was supposed to be the big launch. The problem is city buses stop running around 6 p.m. Downtown is a 25-minute walk, which is reasonable in nice weather, but in last night's cold I was not prepared to set out on foot.

Instead I decided to catch the last bus and make an evening of it. I took my notebook with every intention of spending a couple hours writing and ruining my stomach-friendly diet with a glass of red wine. When I arrived at The Bookshelf, I decided to check out the 6:30 movie. It was Under the Tuscan Sun, which I had not heard of.

Contemplating whether to watch it, I wandered into the -bar, and stumbled upon better entertainment: a couple of attractive men playing pool. I'm not one to spend all evening drooling over strangers, and besides, these men were probably straight, but something about them caught my attention.

They were around 35 or 40 and both looked great in jeans. One was more or less "my type": taller, with a slight belly, thoughtful eyes and a handsome brown moustache. The other by himself would not have caught my eye—short, compact, blond and clean-shaven—but as I passed the pool table he beamed at me radiantly. I could tell he had had a couple beers. We all know straight men are more inclined to cross the line when they have had a few. I have never played in that field, but I wasn't about to turn up my nose at a friendly smile.

I sat down where I could conveniently (but not rudely) watch them, pulled out my notebook and asked Pam at the bar to get me a glass of water and an order of chicken wings, mild. Opening my notebook and wondering what to write, I looked over at the attractive strangers. They stood close to one another contemplating the table.

They were smiling and looking in each other's eyes. Then the tall one reached over and, ever so lightly, ruffled the short blond hair behind his friend's temple. I have watched handsome men play pool at the -bar for years. I have seen camaraderie, good humour and even touching, but not like that. I decided they must be mildly inebriated.

A few minutes later, in passing, the tall one briefly grazed his hand along his partner's waist, just above the hip. The shorter one glowed as he leaned over and took a shot. This was not flirtation, it was a gesture of tenderness between two lovers. I was smitten by the gentle electricity between them. It was entirely natural, and they had let me see it. I wasn't at all surprised when the blond went outside for a smoke and the other pulled out a copy of X-tra, Toronto's Lesbian and Gay Biweekly Newspaper.

I couldn't resist it. My gaydar is so bad, I couldn't turn down an opportunity to meet a couple new men from the community. I waited until my basket of wings was empty and they had finished their second game of pool. Then I ordered a glass of wine and went over to introduce myself. They were friendly and approachable. The blond was all flirtatious smiles and few words. He carried a subtle note of sadness about him. He was pretty enough to have been a hustler when he was younger. The taller one was more outgoing and philosophical. He came from a Southwestern Ontario Mennonite farm family, and had the earthy good looks that often go with it. They live in Cambridge (which is 30 minutes away). Of course we uncovered at least one mutual friend.

Gays and lesbians are fairly invisible around here. I was pleased to meet, entirely by chance, a local couple more or less my age from outside my circle of immediate friends. When they left, we exchanged phone numbers. Hopefully I'll see them again.

Eventually some of my friends arrived and Pride Night went on, although it was poorly attended due to heavy snowfall and inadequate advertising by the organizer. The bar provided some food.

My estranged friend Duncan showed up. I hadn't seen him since Toronto Pride weekend the end of June. He came over to greet me and sat and talked with my friends. Duncan is an expert conversationalist and delights in drawing people out. Last night he picked Michaela as his target and transgenderism as the topic. Fortunately Michaela speaks articulately, if without sophistication, about her life. Duncan is drawn to extraverted, offbeat people. Others he ignores.

With me he behaved awkwardly. I am prepared to let the friendship drift into casualness. Duncan has a habit of over-analyzing people, even me, and applying unnecessary or inaccurate labels. It annoys me.

But making a couple new acquaintances, I felt the evening was worthwhile.