Tuesday, July 22, 2008

Simple pleasures

* A mere few weeks ago it was getting dark as early as 5.15 pm. But I went out a while ago just before six and it was still light enough to see my way to the wheelie bin.

* In today's mail there was a copy of the new Annie Proulx, for me to read and review. Pav loves her work.

* For the last hour and a half, the oven has contained a large, dark cherry-red, fetchingly oval-shaped Chasseur casserole, a treasure that I was given as a going-away present by my Melbourne U English Dept colleagues in 1997 and that has seen a lot of action since, in which two lamb shanks are slowly cooking in an onion, garlic, tomato and white wine sauce with salt and pepper and rosemary from the garden, and the smell is wafting faintly all through this little house.


Pen said...

Your colleagues must have really loved you. Much nicer than a pot plant.

ocky said...

Life can be sweet. Small and sweet and, quite often, exactly the right shape.

Perhaps you should have called this post "The Night of the Hunter" (Chasseur? See what I did there?)

Ampersand Duck said...


Mind you, I had beetroot risotto and that was pretty nice.

I do envy you the Proulx, but.

Pavlov's Cat said...

Pen, yes, it was a fabulous present and they got me a matching terrine with a lid as well. I think the person who knew me best was tasked with choosing. Excellent call. I was really, really touched. Particularly as I know how much those things cost.

Yes, Ocky, saw what you did there, v good.

The lamb shanks were yum. I like the way the sauce cooks down into a sort of intense dark-red savoury tomato jam type thingy.

Anonymous said...

The only Proulx I've ever finished was "Postcards" and something whose name I've forgotten about the life and times of an accordion, both of which were almost unbearably sad. I tried "Shipping News", but I couldn't finish it. It started in a worse place than "Postcards" and looked like getting even worse so I shelved it. I might go back to it when I feel a bit stronger, but not yet.

She's a brilliant writer, but so bloody depressing. These days, I'm sticking with mental chewing gum (87th re-read of "Lord of the Rings", if you must know.)

Apropops your cooking pot, I inherited a Cousances casserole from my late father, which has been doing sterling service for the 15 years I've had it. I think dad had a lot of use from it too. Those hefty French cast iron pots are brilliant, if overpriced.


Pavlov's Cat said...

Better not read Brokeback Mountain then. Compared to the story, the movie was a comedy.