On a group of foodies in Lyon from the book “Dirt“, I’m reading about learning to cook in France: “Everyone suffered the same affliction: an inability to think about much else except the meal you’re having now and the one you’re having next. They were eaters all.” Guilty, I’m an eater. Lockdown only enhances it.
Two tiny fried egg sandwiches on mini tigelle for breakfast. The tigelle was the only bread in the house, so I divided one egg onto two tiny rounds to make adorable little sandwiches fit for a royal mouse. We ate the meat from the pasta alla Genovese from last night for lunch with Roberto’s torta rustica which was stuffed with spinach, ricotta, and eggs, plus a simple salad and some glasses of white wine made with the Lazian Bellone grape. The plan for dinner is pulled pork sandwiches on the maple sweet potato buns I made this afternoon with Roberto’s homemade sauerkraut if it is ready, some leftover onions from the ragu, and the BBQ sauce I finagled together, finally using some of the dark brown sugar I carted over in my suitcase from the States.
Eat well. Stay safe.