I don’t get much comment action on my blog, but I got one this morning and it was fun. Brigette, whom I’ve never met, posted from her blog in the Arigna Valley, not far from Sligo. Years ago, Megan the rabbi and I decided that Sligo was the perfect town. By perfect, we mean lots of bookstores. Just the other day I was describing myself as ‘an aged man, a paltry thing’ and was disappointed that my audience, a university professor, didn’t recognize the Yeats.
Anyway, Bridgette posted a good recipe for rhubarb and apricot jam, which I’m going to try, if Cha shows up with rhubarb at the Issaquah Market tomorrow.
Here’s a photo of the Jam:
Between Tigress moving to the Berkshires for the summer and this, I’ve got my ‘living in the country’ envy going pretty strongly.
My last random, really random note of the day. Its hard to describe the difficulty it took to get my mind wrapped around the Somalian man, performing his prayers in the corner of the shared kitchen yesterday, the corner usually filled with the mexican baker. The baker complains about the difference between him and his assistant, because the baker is from Vera Cruz and the assisstant from Oaxaca. I’m from the same town they filmed Jersey Shore in —