explosions, birds and snow.

Just after I finish taking pictures of a cornish game hen quartet I picked up and almost had cooked to perfection, my stove decided to go Guy Fawkes on me. ?Un/Fortunately I had moved the camera and the tripod out of the way before the element blew. The camera I got off The Craigslist for twenty bucks, in the dark, out side of someones apartment, works great. I just missed all the action with the 35mm.

The wee pidgins , which had been stuffed with herbs from the winter garden, a bit of thyme, oregano and I think a few leaves of parsley, and a slice each of onion and lemon, had to be transfered to the outside grill and cooked via indirect heat for another thirty or forty.

I'm Standing out on my concrete slab in the back yard with a flash light watching the temperature gauge, freezing my arse off it when it starts to snow. Huge downey flakes are falling on my head and I have the grill on mostly high to combat the chill. It's late perhaps eleven o'clock, the streets around me are quiet, "and the only other sound's the sweep of easy wind and downy flake". I spend that 40 minutes thinking about other than electric/gas cooking..

The delicate little birdies were tender and perfect. Dear friend Z taught me how to eat the oysters of the birds. Which means you flip these babies over, and just above the thighs (I call them the back fat on myself) rests a portion of meat that supposedly has the flavor of dark meat, yet texture of the white meat. I found it to be a little more oily than my favorite slice of the bird. But Intriguing as it slid out of the chick like a cork and had the texture of angel food cake.

Green beans and a wild rice mix with an extra black rice dosage, because I like it like that, and some fine chirps. Midnight in snow is a lovely time for dinner. Nothing like a bit of a a frost to help you get your feed on..