This weekend has been tremendous.
Yesterday I had a singing lesson, which tested out the acoustics in the dining room. Then I lounged around.
I made a pilgrimage to Ranch 98 (not its name). It's like Ranch 99 but smaller, and shopping there is like visiting many Asian and South Asian countries simultaneously, except for the half aisle of chicharrons, which seems a little incongruous. Anyway, for the international supermarket music alone I'd go there. Yesterday, apropos of nothing, they played a song by Francoise Hardy. I'm sure that even in the 1960's in France you didn't hear Francoise Hardy at the supermarket. Fabulous!
I came home and got to work. Baked a chicken, made winter squash risotto with edamame, and then made a pie.
It started with these:
Then I vamped. I chopped up nectarines, white peaches and plums, then I tossed in some plum jam from ms scandiwaiian, a touch of chayawanprash, some rose hip jam and a little poi to thicken. Learned a little late in the program that all of my pie pans are still in the garage.
But darn if that didn't turn out tasty.