At this point in the program I have to pause and ponder how much detail I should divulge when it comes to relaying the events that occur in my life over dinnertime. Suffice to say that today there was a crisis; everyone is OK, more or less, but at dinnertime we converged at my sister’s house to do some damage control. My other sister brought roast chickens from Safeway, a loaf of sourdough bread, some oranges and a salad. I brought coffee.
To be honest, in the late afternoon I made another batch of chocolate covered hazelnuts, and ate enough to qualify calorically as dinner. When it became apparent I had to leave the house quickly, with Willem, I put on the pot of chickenoodle soup (I have to say it like that now, since reading it in Nigella’s Feast) that I made yesterday from the chunky, chickeny stock Mike made from a roast chicken left over from shooting a few days before. I poured out most of the stock into freezer containers, leaving all the shredded chunks of chicken in the bottom, brought the rest to a simmer, and threw in a handful of frozen peas and wide egg noodles. Salt and pepper to finish once the noodles were tender, and that’s it.