I’ve just spent an hour in the kitchen, peeling the pearl onions for the coq au vin tomorrow. I’m going ahead with the recipe; the shopping is done. I forgot to buy button mushrooms and I don’t care. I’ll leave them out. I forgot to buy brandy, but I’ve got some apricot flavored stuff in the cupboard that I intend to use. The recipe calls for Chardonnay, but Meg says its okay to use Pinot Grigio and that’s what I have on hand.
The minimalist makes a lot of substitutions, so can I. He probably makes his knowingly while I just make mine wearily, but I’m tired of running to the store for every little thing. That’s not cooking. That’s some sort of Martha Stewart-induced compulsion for perfection and I am having none of it.
Dean said to me this afternoon “You can go to a movie if you want. I’ll stay with the boys.” He springs things on me like this from time to time. Because I don’t mind going to the movies alone, I usally take him up on the offer.
So I went to see Chicago, which I thought was exuberant & well-done. Most of the critics seem to be in agreement, but there’s a few contrary ones saying things like Zellweger ruins it, Gere can’t sing or dance, Zeta-Jones is passable, blah, blah, blah. For my part I think it’s donwright fun to see less than perfectly talented performers stretch a little & challenge themselves. It’s gutsy & real and part of this whole anti-perfectionist movement which I predict is the new zeitgeist.
At least, it’s the zeitgeist in my kitchen.
10:48:17 PM 
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