Our first Thanksgiving in the new house, last year, came two days after moving day which was 10 days into the initial attack on the crimes against decorating that had been inflicted on the place over the course of the previous century. Today, our second Thanksgiving here is a little more under control although there are stacks of lumber and bags of plaster and other building kit all over the dining and living rooms.
But, it is so much more like our traditional TG efforts. Morning bevvies, start baking cornbread for the dressing and preparing a crust and filling for sweet potato pie. We had a goose because we’ve already had turkey this year (and NO ONE but felons should be subjected to that abomination more frequently).
There is a lot for us to be grateful for this year and not just the obvious, mentioned above. And, for today (and tomorrow), we’re going to try to stay focused on all of those things.
Goose, stuffing, pie, cheeses of many ilks…leftovers to help absorb the remaining wine and booze the next day or two. Truly thankful.
My first full day at Cambridge, 20 January 2009, I found myself attached to a mass spectrometry group to which I would remain hitched for the next 10 years and to a microfluidics group. The mass spec principal investigator was out of town but we had already met several times years earlier. The microfluidics head was Chris Abell.
I went to the labs to get orientated with the place and asked his chief of staff if there was a chance of saying, “hello,” but she frowned and said that he was far to busy — AND IMPORTANT — for that but I might be able to schedule a meeting in a few weeks. It was a lovely day out so I said thanks but I think I’ll just go out for a run until my next agenda item in a couple of hours.
“Oh,” she said reaching for the phone with one hand and holding onto my arm with the other; “you’re a runner?” An intercom code later and she said she had Dr. [insert name here] who is a new starter and after a pause for him to explode added, “but, Chris…he’s a runner.” A few seconds later his office door opened and he ushered me in. We covered mileage stories and work stories and he blew off a couple of other meetings. Around 5:30, he asked if I wanted to join the group to watch Obama’s first inauguration and I rang Jackie to let her know I’d be late.
A few months later, we had a patent together which was still paying for my vacation trips as of last year.
The last time we spoke, he had fucked up his hip or knee (or both) and was off the trails for the most part, having just cancelled an Italian marathon we both had talked about doing. I mentioned then that I was also finishing a long recovery; some echoes of that injury still dog me today.
LITERALLY today, as I climbed on of the foot bridges on the way in to work. I thought I’d drop him a note and took the regular route to find his email address and instead found an obituary page from the Chemistry Department.
I looked at a colleague-from-that-time’s twitter feed and there it was again. A different link on the same feed took me to another former colleague’s tweets which included the picture at top.
Thanksgiving is tomorrow. I can honestly say I’m grateful for getting to know Prof. Abell.
Pretty morning albeit cold enough for the bridges as well as long segments of the paths to glaze over.
A second graffito that went up with the Blue, Side Eye Girl was one of a coolie (I’m not sure if that is a woke enough term for this thoroughly progressive publication, but I guess if I capitlize the C in The Coolies no one who has ears to hear should have any complaints).
118 — or so — mL of liquids (warm water with about 30 mL of Tērvete Senču)
two good grinds of sea salt
1/2 teaspoon of sugar
Set that aside to start bubbling. Meanwhile, enjoy the rest of the beer while prepping the sauce:
thinly slice a cup of small, sweet tomatoes
crush a bullion cube on top and mix
put “too much oregano” (dry or fresh) on top and mix
two good grinds of black pepper
hefty pinch of crushed red chillies
a good squirt of tomato puree (US = 1/2 can of tomato paste)
mix and set aside
Finish the beer. Open the first bottle of wine. Pour a glass and return to the dough, kneading in enough strong flour (0000 is best but a good whole wheat brown can also work if you let it prove longer). When the ball has the texture of a young woman’s un-enhanced breast (ah, memories…or, that of a middle-aged man who used to be athletic…ah, regrets), put it back in the bowl to double in size (or a little more for the wheaty version).
Heat your oven to about 175C/350F/middle range of gas marks, stretch the dough to a reasonably good size on some foil or oven paper, and slide that onto a warm cookie sheet to prove a second time. When puffy, slide the dough and substrate onto the top rack in your oven and let it blanch but not brown. Pull this out and, after it cools about 2-3 minutes, flip it over (the top comes out of the oven more done than the bottom).
Now or a day from now or anywhere in between, spread the sauce, top with cheese, add the toppings*, top with a little more cheese including some parmesan, and shove it back in the oven until done. Let it rest 5 minutes — no longer — and drain if necessary before cutting.
———————————-
*You’ve probably put too many toppings on like we always do. Since this is for dining, not a photograph, put the least in need for cooking on first building up to those that most benefit from heat. Last night, this meant counterintuitively from first cheese to top
In the lab especially early to prepare for an 8 o’clock with a chemist (she’s synthesising a drug delivery vehicle that involves a DNA sequence that recognises damaged heart tissue). Hence, I escaped with enough daylight to make the run home an actual run home.
Zoom meeting too early to justify going straight to work so I didn’t hit the trail until 10am. It had been raining heavily after days of strong wind. As I approached Oldbury I glanced up and the hills were almost aglow in the low, late-Autumn morning light, bordered by the retreating storm clouds.
It is exhausting. We haven’t had so much as a week since finishing the dining room floors and still await a weekend delivery of plaster to take care of the walls. Then, last night our to-be-built-in closets arrived (we designed them to fit either side of the chimney breast in the bedroom with a built in chest of drawers between that will also serve as a tele stand up there).
On deck: sealing, staining, and building. Neverending.
DV might be a mason’s signature on this bridge at the Smethwick Junction, or could be Roman numerals of 505 (but, for what reason?). I’m going with “Deo Volente,” myself, as I’m feeling humble and reverent (still atheist, mind).
9.5 miles today after getting lost trying to shortcut from a few bridges further along. “I’ll get there by 8 or, if not, by 8:05 … God willing.”
The morning commute without a lot of heavy construction impending left me with a wandering mind. This and the discarded mini foosball table trasported me back to the mid-to-late-70’s, drinking beers in a pool hall in Griffin, Georgia despite the proprietor knowing without question I was a couple years short of the legal age. A few miles later on the canals, I glanced up as I pierced the central membrane of The City and spotted this graffito that left me with a welcome earworm from The Knack:
Endless British Pub Crawl (Part 3) 