Deep Blue

I did a fair amount of cooking on Monday.  Not because it was Memorial Day, really, but because I had the day off from work.  Work, which is spent primarily preparing and cooking food. 

It’s a good thing I like to cook.

Anyway, there were a few things I needed from the store.  I scribbled a short list for Bill, as he was heading out to get a few things for the garden.

My list included a gallon and a half of whole milk (I wanted to make another batch of mozzarella.  I realized the other day that I’ve missed making cheese.  I really need to get back to that.), something else that I don’t remember but it was probably something basic like eggs or butter, and I asked for some cheap blue cheese.

Initially I thought I was going to make a hearty pasta salad, full of things like fresh asparagus, smoked mussels, black beans, shredded chicken, and who knows what else.  I thought little bits of blue cheese would add to the whole hearty, intense mixture.

While Bill was gone I puttered around.  I cooked the black beans that had soaked overnight.  I cooked the garlic scapes I’d picked earlier in olive oil, salt and pepper.  I cleaned out the fridge and did dishes. 

And when Bill returned, he brought in three half gallons of local whole milk, the other thing I’d asked for, whatever it was…and a wedge of Great Hill Blue.

He said something about hoping that was what I’d wanted, what I’d meant by “deep blue” and I looked at him without understanding for a moment.

Then the light bulb switched on.

“I wrote cheap blue cheese!  I just wanted to add it to the pasta salad….”

He thought “deep blue” was my way of asking for a really good blue cheese.  He looked at Stilton, but decided it was too “deep” and opted for the Great Hill – which happens to be a favorite of ours.

It seems there are benefits to bad handwriting.

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