Every time I drink Chardonnay I feel like a middle-aged housewife.
My college roommate, Lauren, used to be a close, close friend. Sometimes on weekends we'd go to Houston and I'd stay with her family in their provincial Cinco Ranch home with the customary white-columned entry. Her mother was ripe and fun, tit job and all. Usually, after a bottle of Penfolds Chardonnay, she was a hoot, if you could get past the slurred speech.
Now, if the bottle of Chard wasn't chilled when it arrived, Lauren's mother would toss a couple of ice cubes into a glass and fill it to the brim with the cheap Chardonnay. Nancy was usually the loudest and most congenial at dinner, and most often the most sauced.
Lauren used to be in the Corps., but you wouldn't know that just looking at her. She was a 20-something-year-old kid, engaged to an Army Reserveman. She got married to the soldier, and I wasn't even invited. She said I was her maid of honor.
Bullshit.
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Two culinary successes in a row? Is it possible, dear Watson? Yes; yes it is. On Saturday it was a roast chicken (my first attempt ever, and its breasts were juicy) and stuffed bell peppers. But that was nothing compared to the eggplant and sunflower seed pate. Just ask Dave. It was charming.
Tonight, I tried the taste of a different continent. It was black bean and garlic noodle soup with bok choy, sugar snap peas, tofu and shelled edamame. Everything turned out so well that I can't wait for lunch tomorrow. Thank God for leftovers. It wasn't quite like Mu Du Noodles, though. The Malaysian Laksa there is to... die... for.
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