jess mebane

Here on my dirt patch the spider mites crawl on the just and the unjust. I have a tomato garden in the early throes of its death rattle, and I can only hope to harvest a measly bushel or two from the current fruiting before I have to rip and burn the lot and start over. That's about twelve or eleven out of thirteen plants downed by those evil orange devils, mind you. Let this be a lesson to you, children: don't skip the fundamentals, water low and slow and mind your lower stems!

Central Mkt. only has the Pepperidge Farm brand; I was there today looking for pp for baked brie. Kiddie Party at the Mebane casa manana--lock up the pets!

And why I can't be trusted to do anything whilst in the throes of low blood sugar, grocery shopping being #1 on ze liste: individual creme brulees (2) clam chowder tortilla soup mexican coca cola baguette rainier cherries at an ungodly price heirloom tomato at an ungodly price + $1.50 extra baguette rounds asparagus

I've got a bottle of dry marsala that came into play once or twice; how long will it keep?

good-sized pot of pinto beans, monkey bread, cherry cobbler and cheese grits. A green salad with good tomatoes. Sometimes I think I would make a fine vegan, then I go home to visit, and my dad flops a big steak on my plate and says, "God gave us those sharp teeth for a reason, gal. Eat." He has an E.B. White way of clearing these things up for me.

I like it. I suppose as the dummy that responds to this pedantic sort of thing, I shouldn't be embarrassed to say that the M of F episode where the Makah Indians were allowed to hunt whale as their ancestors did moved me to tears, but I am, and Samuelson is a moon-faced snore into the bargain.

As a droning ex-pat of Lockhart, I must say Smitty's has the best overall: fat and lean brisket, definitely the best pork chops, and sausage for now with crackers, or breakfast links for later. Kreuz still lays claim to the best slice of prime rib, but only before noon. Black's has the best ribs and sides. Now we're in the suburbs and everything tastes the same; not like when you could tell where lunch came from based on the color of butcher paper it was wrapped in.

How dumb I am is that I actually thought you were growing a cinnamon plant, not a basil varietal. Thorough perusal is my downfall; coupled with faulty math skills and viola! Three kids in four years (sigh).

cinghiale, with homemade paparadelle, no machine and not again for a while, thank you! Oh, and in the absence of wild boar I subbed beef necks--I expect to be boiled in bad chianti once the Tuscans hear of this.

thought I'd revive this chestnut to say it's time you went a-berrying, if you're ready for blackberries. Mind the poison ivy, though, as it seems to have benefitted from a mild, wet winter as much as the berry patch has. I had to restrain the middle boy from eating red and aubergine ones, but he did appreciate the ripe ones more.

Ha! Can you imagine if he were a guest on the 30 min. show and she began pressing ingredients into his arms and talking up the "pockets of time" thing?! Kind of like SpongeBob v. Squidward--the death match. Boy, do I need to cut back on the cable this summer.

Quail fried with a buttermilk crust, al dente asparagus wrapped in prosciutto, and mashers.

and did you, fifi? new herbs: cinnamon, lemon, sweet and Thai basils, a new greek oregano to go along with my established MX and Italian oreganos, and sage. promise some pics sooon. ← Yes, dear Fifi, was it the full worm or full pink moon that called you to plant? And lovebenton, I have to see pix of the cinnamon plant!

...Or a gratin. Layers of thick slices, dusted with S&P, and parm shavings. Dotted with butter, smothered in cream, and baked until dessert-like in its sweetness. Paprika for color, 'course.

Check out the recent Growing herbs in an NYC apartment thread, which, name notwithstanding, isn't very NYC-specific. Sun lovers like basil you're pretty much obliged to grow outdoors. Sorrel is another delicious salad herb; it's a perennial, though, and becomes quite the clump after a year or two, so I doubt it would work as a windowsill or window box plant. I often pot sprouting shallots and eat the chive-like shoots. If you can provide sunny but cool conditions, nasturtiums are great; you can even pickle the flower buds. ← I agree with all of this. I'm also overbuying as usual this spring, so I have six-packs of herbs I couldn't possibly find room for. Just to limit waste, I sheared off some basil and oregano out of their pots, and stuffed them into glass jars on the window to use immediately in recipes. Two weeks later, both herbs are growing feathery roots in the water, and the basil is trying to get bolty with flowers in its mayo jar. I don't know what this means, but what about going hydro in the window rather than teensy pots that fry up like ants under the magnifying glass at noon?

Bacon, basil, tomato, avocado and swiss on toasted Pepperidge farm thin slices with S&P and mayo. It was so good, I almost didn't notice I'd left the bacon out at first--almost.

say what?!

That'd be Imperial Pure Cane Sugar, friend. And from Dublin, TX, not Waco, I believe.

For cheap eats and a funky breakfast dive, it's gotta be House of Pies. I also enthusiastically second the Star and Fuzzy's Pizza Recs. Fine dining is usually Brennan's, but I always throw the River Oaks Grill out there as a great upscale romantic joint that flies under the local radar.

Magali, we are better for knowing you, even in a limited, existentialist kinda way. And that gal on the boat is pretty much how I've pictured you over the years: ethereal beauty with excellent taste in periodicals, if not watercraft. And you're funny as hell.

sidebar to sidebar- Dude, your prose is slammin', not pallid, and I think it's been about 10 yrs since I even put such um, good words to great use. Pallid! righteous. Why is it, in light of recent threads, do Houstonians as a breed love the Mandola family and revile Fertitta? I don't even think the Ragin' Cajun is near as good as it used to be, but stopping in for a softshell po-boy and seeing one of "the family" gladhanding the patrons just makes me happy, go figure. But I guarantee you the next time I'm down the Bayou way, I'll have to investigate Pronto Cucino just to see the Mandola mojo in action.

vanilla, baby. Its lack thereof is what held Annette Bening's character's RE success back in American Beauty. Well, vanilla and middle-American WASP ennui, of course.

Sweet Jesus, this finally answers a conversation with myself as to why I've bought these lovely food processors, bread machines and assorted gizmos, only to return every night to the same three knives and the hands God gave me. Start chopping things, indeed--I think we all feel better soon, right? Part of being foodie means satisfying a tactile yen that occurs only in your own kitchen, like grabbing a dull Henckels and skinning an asparagus pencil just because you can. Like the way a face full of sweating onion steam in a shallow pan seems to release the impurities of a long day. How your kid takes bacon out of your hand in benediction.

We do the same thing. I look forward to the day when all babies are big enough to join us at the grownups' table, but until then it is a short respite, an atoll of quiet, a soothing oas--wait, the middle one just disassembled his crib again.... Picky eaters press their mother's hysteria button, because after all it is our first instinct to nurture, and what is wrong with you that your beloved offspring won't feed? NOTHING. Well, nothing a circus balloon-sized glass of red wine and good night's sleep wouldn't cure. God bless you and your house! I had a boy that wouldn't eat anything but dreadful Goldfish crackers and Cheerios, and I thought I would lose my mind. Then he went to Granny and Grandaddy's house for a week, and watched his cousins scarf everything, watched my parents nonchalantly scrape his untouched plate into the trash, and then watched his own little self go to bed without the irradiated orange fish pellets. Said boy came home with a refined taste for green beans, actual fresh fish and cream chipped beef--I blame Grandaddy for that last one, but it was wonderful and we've never looked back. Now, congratulations and good health to you by the way, and may I offer my mother's droning advice: This too shall pass!