John and I both had to work on the Friday before Thanksgiving, and I had much to do in preparation for a week in Wimberley with house guests. Most important of all, I needed to go over all my recipes for the Thanksgiving feast, to make sure I had all the necessary pots, pans, spices and cooking tools that I might need, since half of my stuff was in Houston, half in Wimberley. Therefore, I suggested to John that instead of driving up on Friday evening, maybe we should wait and get an early start on Saturday. He said yes, that was probably a good idea. We were in no rush, since guests wouldn't be arriving until Tuesday or Wednesday, and traffic would be lighter then too.
Things went well at work Friday morning, as I finished tweaking all my displays, and made preparations for the fresh Christmas trees, garlands, and poinsettias that would arrive during my absence. I finished up by lunchtime, and since it was a gorgeous day, I decided to try the outdoor dining area of the newly opened Dry Creek Cafe (owned by the same folks as Onion Creek - my favorite morning spot for drinking chai lattes and hanging out with fellow crossword addicts). It was so enjoyable, I stretched lunch out as long as possible. By the time I had stopped for yogurt and pecans, it was after 2:30, and as I drove into the garage, I remember thinking "Thank heavens we aren't trying to leave this afternoon." Then I stepped into the house, and heard the phone ringing.
Before I even heard his voice, I knew who it was, and why he was calling. Next thing you knew, I was in the car again, careening towards the bagel shop, praying they would still have something left this late in the day. They didn't. Then I was back home, running around the house half-crazed, throwing things into coolers, searching for recipes, grabbing clothes out of closets, and making calls to arrange for plant watering and package pick-up. We were in the car and headed towards Wimberley by 4:30, and John had no idea what kinds of hoops I had jumped through for him, all because I couldn't resist his wistful little voice on the phone, saying "Are you sure you don't want to go ahead and drive up this evening?" Of course, it only took him five minutes to get ready. That's because he hasn't given a single thought to the feeding and entertainment of his relatives in the coming week. He just grabbed a couple of pairs of jeans and a few sweaters from his closet, hopped into the passenger seat of my Mini, and drifted off to dream of all the fun he would have with his brother, the football games they would watch, and the wonderful food that would magically appear before them whenever they were hungry.
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Mmmm, good breakfast! John discovered a new bakery, Phoenix Rising, in San Marcos yesterday and brought home a couple of different artisanal loafs and some banana bread. When I was little, Mom had a great recipe for banana-nut bread. Often, when it was still warm from the oven, she would cut a slice for me and spread a bit of peanut butter on it, which would then soften and become oozey. With an ice-cold glass of milk and a banana, it was the best breakfast in the world. Of course, things rarely live up to your childhood memories, so imagine my surprise when I took my first bite from this new loaf, and found it to taste exactly like Moms!
Another thing I discovered is that it pays to be a bit picky.
Whenever I saw entire books devoted to the proper brewing of tea, I used to think "How much difference could it really make? There are only two ingredients!" I was quite content with plopping a tea bag into my cup of tap water, and nuking it in the microwave for 90 seconds. For my birthday, Lex sent me a can of Blood Orange tea bags, from the Republic of Tea. The aroma when I popped the lid off the can was wonderful, with a faint resemblance to the Cherry Blend Tobacco my father used to put in his pipe. For some reason, I got a wild hair and decided to follow the directions on the can - bringing fresh cold water to a rolling boil in my kettle, pouring it over the bag and letting it steep from two to four minutes. It was the best cup of tea I had ever tasted, and smelled just like Christmas morning, when everyone always peeled and ate the tangerines we found in the toe of our stockings. I had intended to take the tea back to Houston with me, but somehow forgot. I spent the next several weeks thinking about that aroma, and kicking myself for leaving it behind. Of course, I just assumed it was extra delicious because it was three times as expensive as my usual brand.
Whenever I saw entire books devoted to the proper brewing of tea, I used to think "How much difference could it really make? There are only two ingredients!" I was quite content with plopping a tea bag into my cup of tap water, and nuking it in the microwave for 90 seconds. For my birthday, Lex sent me a can of Blood Orange tea bags, from the Republic of Tea. The aroma when I popped the lid off the can was wonderful, with a faint resemblance to the Cherry Blend Tobacco my father used to put in his pipe. For some reason, I got a wild hair and decided to follow the directions on the can - bringing fresh cold water to a rolling boil in my kettle, pouring it over the bag and letting it steep from two to four minutes. It was the best cup of tea I had ever tasted, and smelled just like Christmas morning, when everyone always peeled and ate the tangerines we found in the toe of our stockings. I had intended to take the tea back to Houston with me, but somehow forgot. I spent the next several weeks thinking about that aroma, and kicking myself for leaving it behind. Of course, I just assumed it was extra delicious because it was three times as expensive as my usual brand.
Imagine my surprise, when I finally got back to Wimberley, brewed a cup in my usual microwave manner, then discovered that it didn't taste at all like I remembered. In fact, it was somewhat bitter. And where was that wonderful fragrance? Could the tea have gone bad in just a few weeks? Did I fail to get the lid on securely? Before tossing it out, I decided to give it one more try, only this time, I followed the instructions on the can. Guess what? It was every bit as wonderful as I had remembered!
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