Yesterday, I was sitting at the computer, doing absolutely nothing.
I wasn’t reading emails. I wasn’t looking up a bus schedule. I wasn’t looking at my Facebook notifications.
Absolutely, positively nothing.
So I said to myself,
“Wow Sofia, really? Are you really doing this? You call yourself an old-fashioned girl and you’re just going to while away a sunny Sunday afternoon in your basement, staring at a screen? Would Louisa May Alcott do this? Um, no. Well, she actually might, but then she’d feel bad about it and get to work! You fail. Do something about it.”
So I did. I did three things about it.
First, I made pico de gallo. I like pico de gallo. I don’t like tomatoes, but I do like pico de gallo. Unfortunately, of the tomatoes, onions, cilantro, and lime juice that go into pico de gallo, I had:
I could have made a run to the grocery store three blocks from my house, but I didn’t want to. I had to make it hard on myself and make a sojourn to the locally-owned, cutesy little greengrocer: Tony’s Market. It’s a mile away, but so worth it. I know the tomatoes I bought there were probably birthed in Mexico, just like their fellows chillin at the grocery store, but still! It’s Tony’s Market! It’s not even a store; it’s a tent. A big, colorful, vegetation-filled tent on a gravel parking lot. I enjoy buying produce. I enjoy buying produce even more than I do buying clothes (maybe). But look! I got a good deal on onions! 50 cents a pound! L.O.G.
After that, I made a dress. It’s red gingham. It’s a jumper. It’s homemade-looking and extremely uncool.
I’m in love already.
I showed it to my family. Here’s how that went down:
Me: How do you like my new dress?
Brother 1: Ha! Picnic table!
Mother: Well . . . I guess it’ll be . . . comfortable . . . [Daughter needs more fashion-sense. Daughter can use it as a maternity dress when she is older.]
Father: Hmm, it seems to be a little wide for you . . .
Brother 2: …………………………….Why are you asking me?
This dress and I go way back. I bought the fabric in my youth to try out a new pattern. I was going to show the world that gingham could be cool and sophisticated if it wanted to be. That dress flopped; gingham failed to be cool and sophisticated. Undaunted, I made it over into a different dress. No. 2 was an equally unfortunate garment. Crushed, I put it away with my other rejects, where it has patiently sat for five years, forgotten and unloved by the world. Then yesterday I said to myself, “Hmm, I’m too lazy to make an entire dress. Maybe I’ll just shorten this skirt and put in some gathers and lace and tack down the bodice lining.”
So I did. I also learned my lesson: gingham cannot be cool and sophisticated. Gingham does not want to be cool and sophisticated. Gingham is adorable and hopelessly dorky. The end.
Finally, I made a pie. Rhubarb custard pie. It was a beautiful pie. I made a “π” out of leftover dough and put it on the top crust. Then my family ate it before I could document any proof of its gorgeousness. I reduced the sugar because I have an Asian mom, and Asian moms don’t like desserts to be tooth-achingly sweet. Here’s the recipe if you want it:
Rhubarb Custard Pie
3 eggs, beaten
4c chopped rhubarb
1 1/4 c sugar
1/4 c flour
pastry for 2 pie crusts
1. Cook together rhubarb, sugar, flour, and spices until mushy and delicious.Take off heat.
2. While that’s going on, beat together eggs and milk. Preheat the oven to 375 degrees Fahrenheit.
3. Temper egg mixture by gradually mixing in 1 c of rhubarb stuff. Add the whole egg thing into the rhubarb; stir to combine.
4. Roll out pastry and place bottom crust into pie plate. Sprinkle with flour. Add filling. Place top crust on. Cut vent holes and pretty flowers and things into top crust.
5. Bake that sucker for 40 minutes.
6. PIE!!! But slow down! Don’t eat it yet! Let it cool off so that the filling can set.
Oh yeah, Happy Independence Day!! I can never spell “independence” right! I always spell it “independance“! That’s why I usually call it 4th of July!
I made more pico de gallo. I made some guacamole. I made sun tea. We bundled everything up and went to see the fireworks show on Lake Union.
I like fireworks. I like sun tea. I like our nonsensical, stubbornly outdated, hard-to-memorize, not-Metric System of Measurement. Go Fahrenheit!
America’s a pretty neat place to live.
Good-bye for now. Next time, I might talk about the extremely bizarre Bible story I read the other day.