Tuesday, February 8, 2011

I'm sure I've said this before, but in the extreme seasons I tend to be pretty lazy.  I don't put a heck of a lot of effort into anything.  My clothes, my food, my social life.  In the height of summer we hunker down at the cottage, and in February we hole-up in our apartment.  Neither end of the hot/cold spectrum is particularly inspiring, so we rely on the go-to's, the things we can do with our eyes closed.  Every day in some variation of jeans, sweater, boots.  Plain and simple.  Weather-resistant and cozy.  Much like our food.

Tonight's jeans came in the form of a centre-cut pork chop.  Its sweater, a swath of Israeli couscous, and its boots a green salad with lemon mustard vinaigrette.  In February (in these parts) every outfit needs a toque, and every meal too: Half an apple diced and softened alongside the pork, boozed-up with a bit of white wine and bourbon, made-syrupy and spread on top.

Nothing fancy.  Just good.    


  1. WTF? This is your definition of lazy? Lazy means ordering pizza, then answering the door in your pajamas while trying to hide the shame from the delivery guy.

  2. I agree with mina! Your lazy is my definition of pretty perfect!

  3. Ha!
    Ladies! We do a whole lot of ordering-in, too. And the worst kind: Swiss Chalet! Mushy fries and all! We're not fancy.

    I meant, lazy for actually cooking something . . .

    Stop judging me.

  4. Yeah. My version of a lazy meal is a bottle of Raw Power (screw cap, no cork) and Cheetos.

  5. I'd like to add that 'fancy' is also in the eye of the beholder.