I easily slipped into comfort conversations - those that tend to spark some interest: McDonald's (great company, beautiful campus, so do you get a discount?), Manti (should have one the Heisman), marathons (I'm normally not this fat), and my status as mama-to-be (have any day care recommendations?). I found a rhythm. I miraculously evaded awkward remarks or silent pauses. And soon enough, my bedtime had slipped by.
Sans alcohol, I rationalized: I had a birthing class in the morning, I had been tired all week, I had to pull the plug - Peter could hold down the fort. Around 10:15, I grabbed my coat from the front hall closet and told the neighborhood goodnight. I turned to Sue, one of the neighbors that I had just met, sweet, bubbly, down to Earth Sue, and said,"well I better sally forth, I'm feeling really tired."
Oh no. Did I just say, 'sally forth?!'
I heard the statement ringing through my mind, over and over again. I blamed Tolstoy. It was something Levin or Stepan or one of those other Russians would have said.
The look on Sue's face was somewhere in between perplexed and pitying - confused at my statement, but sympathizing with my pregnant, sober state of affairs.
During my 50 meter walk back to our house, I felt the after shocks of my verbal bomb over and over again. There went the cool, hip impression that I had wanted to convey.
Over the past three months or so, I've become increasingly removed from the party circuit and initiated deeper and deeper into a little fireside book club that can boast only two members: Peter and I. Weekend cocktail hours have been replaced with sparkling water, a crackling birch fire, and many good novels. I've been paging through book after book, escaping into worlds with characters who have far greater problems than my current self image - that of an inverted, two-humped camel. And I've effectively found a way to completely relax through this more tiring stage of pregnancy.
In the past three months or so, I've made it through eight books, and am midway through the ninth.
Perks of Being a Wallflower. Pittsburgh, the Fort Pitt Tunnel, and great characters. Winning combination.
Gone Girl. Started off good, then took a turn for the worse. I started to find it annoying around page 300.
Fifty Shades of Grey. The writing is awful. The sex isn't sexy. And frankly Mr. Grey bored me.
Tess of the D'Urbervilles. So that's what happened. I should have read this book sophomore year of high school, but obviously I had done one of those fake reading jobs that I was quite good at.
In the Garden of Beasts. I had bad dreams about Nazis every night while reading this book.
A Tale of Two Cities. Again I had an epiphany as I had skimmed this book in eighth grade. It's awesome.
The Family Fang. Weird. And I now hate performance art.
Fountainhead. Howard Roarke is the reason I like to work in a silo, and he's convinced me to stick with it.
I'm now deep within the rich Russian landscape of Anna Karenina. The pages turn a little slower in this novel, but it gives me more time to warm up by the fire.
Peter makes fun of me for morphing into various characters from the novels I read. Apparently, I take cues from their behavior and language, adopting certain affectations. He calls me out for it. I immediately deny the accusation, and quickly slip into something more colloquial. And apparently, that's what happened last night. I'm now stripping 'sally forth' from my word bank.
What Peter does like about book club though is the dinner inspiration that comes from reading. For instance, on Friday, as Anna and Vronsky escaped into Italy, we had bowls of pasta e fagiole.
And despite not having a glass of Barolo to go with it, I was quite satisfied playing the role of Anna to Peter's Vronsky, minus the whole affair thing.
Lo.
Pasta e Fagioli
Serves Four (or two with leftovers for lunch the next day)
Every recipe that I read on Friday required dried beans, that needed to be soaked overnight. I didn't have the time to soak beans on Friday after work, so I turned to John for some advice on using canned beans. Mixing inspiration from him and others, I came up with the following recipe.
Ingredients
6 cups water
2 cans cannelini beans
Two celery stalks
1 carrot, unpeeled and cut into four piece
1 carrot, pealed and chopped
1 onion, quartered
2 sprigs Italian parsley
1 bay leaf
2 sage leaves
6 cloves of garlic
Salt, pepper
3 pieces of pancetta, diced
Olive oil
1/4 cup tomato paste
1 - 1 1/2 cups water
1 cup Macaroni or another kind of smaller noodle
1 tablespoon Italian parsley
Grated Haystack Queso de Mano or another kind of salty, hard cheese
Directions:
In a medium soup pot bring water to a boil with one can of beans (with liquid), celery stalks, carrot pieces, 2 quarters of onion, 3 cloves of garlic, parsley, bay leaf, sage, salt and pepper. Reduce heat to medium and let the stock continue to cook for an hour or so.
Drain the liquid, reserving the solid vegetables and beans, into another medium pot and keep warm over low heat. Take out the celery, carrots and herbs from the remaining solids and place everything else in food processor. Pulse till smooth. Set aside bean mixture.
Drizzle a couple teaspoons of olive oil in a large soup pot, and over medium heat, brown the pancetta pieces until crispy, about 7 minutes. Dice remaining quarters of onions and garlic cloves and add to pot. Saute until tender, about 4 minutes. Add tomato paste and stir until incorporated. Add stock and water (depending on how much the stock reduced while cooking and how thick you like your pasta fagiole, you should add more or less water.) Add pureed bean mixture, whole beans, salt and pepper. Let simmer over medium low heat for 30 minutes.
Meanwhile, cook macaroni in salted, boiling water for about 7 minutes, until very al dente. Drain and then add to the soup. Let the soup cook for another 5 - 10 minutes over medium low heat. Add another dash of salt to taste.
Serve topped with Italian parsley, freshly grated Haystack Queso de Mano, and (a couple) hunks of crusty Italian bread.
