The plan is that I make every single one of the NYT 100 Easy Dinner Recipes For Right Now. The plan is that somehow helps me riddle out the right now.
Last night I made Lidey Heuck’s White Chicken Chili. I sped up the process, as recommended, by using a rotisserie chicken from Wegman’s. But for those who might judge, I then slowed down by using Ayocote Blanco Beans from Rancho Gordo who let me into their amazing Bean Club. I haven’t been that excited about a waitlist since applying for college (thanks, but no thanks, Middlebury). Thank God. I cooked those beans with a little pork beause I’m southern. I also added deglazed the pot with a little Modelo, added a second jalapeno, and subtracted the corn (I forgot to buy it). You can smush the beans against the sides of dutch oven with a wooden spoon if you like, but if you have an immersion blender on hand, it makes a pretty great texture before you drop the chicken back in the pot. I grated some sharp chedder. I avoca-did, thank you very much. Sour cream obvs, in honor of Hapsburg failsons.
Accompanying drinks: One Brue Print, Scottish Ale, which is pretty good, though not as good ast the Ponysaurus Scottish Ale. It was my drink after days of both Covid-19 (it finally got me, gang)and Paxlovid. I drank it in celebration of a negative at-home test on Saturday (second negative test came today) and pretended that I was on Isle of Skye instead of at my house. Where I feel like I have been for seventeen lazy Count of Monte Cristos with a side of bourgie, Netflix-assisted gulag.
Soundtrack: I don’t know if WUNC music would fully appreciate me doing this but I’ve been compiling their “Future Shock” playlists (released Mondays on Spotify, after the show on Saturday night) into one giant list. If you’re not listening to Future Shock, you’re missing out. It’s some blend of electronic and r&B and hip-hop and post-punk and jazz and world music and even if this is not the intent, it always sounds good on the violet side of twilight, when the lights start to come on and you feel a little crawl of electricity like, “maybe something magical will happen if I go out tonight” even though you’re middle-aged and absolutely, positively know better. That feeling is the greatest feeling in the world, ps. And so is “Future Shock.” Note: this an unvarnished, unsponsored message. I don’t even want a tote bag.
The Night: A lot of things have happened since I last posted one of these, roughly five weeks ago. Among them (and in no particular order): My best friend visited. I had crippling, undiagnosable back pain for a month. I visited I my hometown. My father had real estate crisis. A close friend’s husband died. My stepfather had a health crisis. My mother got sick. Work went nuts. Everyone I know got sad. Global events turned horrific. People I love tore each other apart arguing about when horrific violence is justified and whether horrific violence should be avenged with bigger violence. Local politics got hot. People I love got ugly on social media about things I thought we all agreed on like greenways and affordable housing. I adopted kittens. One kitten had to go to the emergency vet. I got a flat tire on the way to the emergency vet. I had a teeny financial crisis. I had to have half my deck rebuilt. A cabinet fell off the hinges. A door fell off the hinges. A blind fell off the window. I went to New York for the first time in a year. I got Covid. I had a different kind of vacation. I felt extremely sorry for myself. But hey, the Madonna biography is great.
Thus, my night last night felt like a touch of reprieve, but I’m superstitious, way superstitious. Talk to me about hex control. Talk to me about jink removal. Talk to me, even, about Jinx Removing. Talk to me about not being worried about a Paxlovid rebound. Talk to me about something I can fix.
Next up: Who knows? But I’m glad to be back at it.
Tiny Commotions 