Bringing home the bacon (or adventures in food porn)

What is a girl to do? So much work to do, and so little desire to do it? Ah yes, have her devilish jet-setting ;) co-conspiritor visit and then do what they do best...

What do we do best? Well the first night we just shared sly stories, and the first morning we actually (believe it or not) took our work, together with picnic, to school and accomplished some. (No after-school care for the week shot my big notions of productive days all to hell, but such is life). We made excellent use of yams (no, nothing unkosher) a ground nut stew, fabulously decadent and yet, quite simple. The girl knows how to get mileage out of pepper flakes, I tell you.

I. spent the evenings "obsessed" as she says, with the fabulous books that Sole sent her via Paquetería Libélula (thank you, thank you, thank you - she's so proud that "she is now beginning to read chapter books!" and Narnia now has a keyhole to our home!) K. acted as proxy and read several chapters a day to the insatiable I. with dialogue in proper Brittish accent and all.

Seeing ourselves vastly over-provisioned there was guilt, but not shame, as she confessed to me that she has succumbed to her love of bacon, after a 15 year embargo on meat, on our walk to pick up the girlchild on day 2. This is where things got hairy. Mmm. Bacon, never ever buy it, and not because I am Jewish. But I felt obligated to have some. It was like there was a message from God in my ear, you must buy bacon, you must, you must...

That, and Jenny's virtual presence and commentary about having collard greens with bacon drippings put us over the top. I say us, but of course, I really mean only me. Ah yes, so what do we do instead of work? Because I figure what is one more unproductive day in a string of about 40? I can start work tomorrow, isn't how the mantra goes. New year's resolutions and all. I will start work tomorrow. Ach. that is almost true, oh wait, it is true. Dammit. I say, "let's just write the day off, come on... I want to play today." Twist, twist, twist that arm, I know I can be so convincing when I try.

We begin at 3 with a bottle of Spumante... I must confess champagne has always been too dry for my tastes but I could (and do every New Year's) down several glasses of Asti in a matter of minutes. There is however more to this than mere hedonistic gluttony. K. and I have a tradition with this drink, back in our wild Bryn Mawr days we used to climb up on all the collegiate gothic structures and sit on the roofs and drink, one bottle each, it is a miracle that neither of us slid off the inclined plane in a drunken stupor, but we always managed to make it out unscathed. I bought this bottle with just that tradition in mind. So no Thomas Great Hall to scale, and poor old Phelps hardly seems worthy, it might even be as anti-climactic as the PISB's patchy aluminum roof. Plus there was a kid involved here. Ok, so, the setting was my living room, and after we finished the bottle, and pored over pictures on her computer of... wait, that's secret... she says, "let's cook!" and I say, "Let's indeed!"

The silly drunken flush has already started creeping into my cheeks. What shall we make? "Pumpkin bread!" I announce, I have to give some presents to my professors. "Oh, and the ice cream!" My ice-cream maker has been used a total of two times, both with K. manning the wheel. Clearly not hard to use, but far above my field of vision, if I actually liked sweets, I might make sorbets (which I do happen to like, lemon or raspberry best) but I can't be bothered in general, but K. came equipped with Maya Gold chocolate and we had procured cream (also rarely in my house) so as to prepare a decadent treat.

"We need something else to drink," she looks devilishly my way, "how 'bout a black russian."
"No vodka, I only have rum, vermouth and triple sec... none too appealing."
"We could use rum."
"I could go to the store and pick up bacon, too." I tell you, the devil, the devil...
"Can you drive?"
"No, but I can still walk... oh wait!!!" I remember a small bottle of black cherry vodka that I stuck in the freezer several months ago with the intention of using it in just such a flourish of brilliance. She pulls the Kahlua from its nest among my stock pots, and gets busy preparing our demise.
"It's hot!" I say, and pad out the front door, closing the outer blinders, coming back in, shutting the door behind me and switching the deadbolt with a click.
I start to undress in the kitchen, "let's take pictures," I smile. She reminds me, "oh shit, the last load of laundry!" and I giggle uncontrolably... "I'll go," she starts towards the door... my savior. I run upstairs, breathless, to pee and I. looks at me. "Were you naked downstairs?" "No, not completely, just like this, in my bra and panties." "Ok." Phew! that's totally normal in her world, she can't be bothered because she is watching The Last Unicorn for the umpteenth time and is reciting lines by heart.
K. comes back with the laundry, and says, "ok, now..." and she takes off her pants and wraps her loosely woven shawl around her hips like a sari, "out of respect for it being midday and there being a child present." ha ha ha. We run out of our black russians and she suggests we try them with rum... The pumkin spice bread is emitting an earthy smell, and the chocolate, cream and sugar have just come to a boil, and are setting in their custard state as she fishes out the vanilla bean and adds the eggs. Then she gets another devilish grin and throws in a japanese tea-cup full of Kahlua... Guess I. will sleep well tonight...

"So, Ilana," she smiles as we dance around the kitchen to 80's music, "this is so quintessentially us... getting naked, talking about sex and making amazing food." And of course we discovered the root of all our kinky commonalities! An early-life obsession with the "New Nancy Drew Case Files" (see it wasn't just me who read them for the racy BDSM undertones, HA!)
Ah yes. We take several pictures, still lifes and live action with silicon spatulae, (food porn, nothing more, I swear ;) we find ourselves pleased and take a break for her to continue reading the Chronicles of Narnia, and I take that opportunity to make wild-alaskan salmon with a sauce of mango puree, soy, japanese ginger, mustard and a new twist to an old recipe, persimmon preserve that I made around Thanksgiving and had no desire to eat on toast. This was accompanied by nutted currant couscous and (baconless) collard greens. So, in honor of food pornographers everywhere, I share only the most sensual of our collection.