First, I noticed a faint tickle. I sought mugs of tea to warm and preoccupy my throat. Later that night, a cough violated my rest. A couple puffs of my inhaler and I resumed my trek to dreamland. The next morning, I attributed a heavy, achy head to allergies. After all, our friends, Gretchen, Eric, Jesse and Aisha were soon to arrive. There was no time to entertain fleeting symptoms. And, oh my, did I pay for that negligence. Before the onset though, there was much food and drink to be had.
A stellar sun was high in an autumnal sky. Vintage’s engines were primed for a trip to a waterfront restaurant. The novelty of arriving at a destination via boat was not wasted on us.
While waiting out a table inside the restaurant, we lingered outside, upon a makeshift beachfront all bright white in the sun’s glare. We gathered around craggy, splintered wooden wire spools remodeled as tables, shadows of their former selves. We tickled our toes with dull shards of bleached shells underfoot. We busied our mouths with frosty strawberry mudslides, attempting to sip the sweet, chocolaty cool shake before a chanced melting.
After I wolfed down a section of crab and herbed havarti quiche, we headed home. I rested in the cabin next to Gretchen whose full-blown cold already had the better of her. I should have known then that I was doomed—sleeping instead of joining the revelers on the bow with a blueberry beer.
Once ashore, we shuffled into our favorite haunt for their annual chowder contest. Nils and I were judges. My dear girl, PerryA won with her creamy, dilled chowder. By the night’s close, the cold took hold of me, sat me down on the couch and gave me a firm talking to. I am here, it pronounced, and you will take notice. Bold little bugger.
The next morning, we gathered for brunch at Mike and Kelly’s. They put on quite a spread. Kelly seasoned a slew of bloody marys. She also determined the recipe for the strawberry mudslides and as you can see, all agreed that she was right on.
Nils sliced his way through strawberries and pineapple for a colorful, antioxidant-rich salad.
Mike manned the bacon, sausage, cheesy scrambled eggs, and home fries speckled with ground chouriço.
Sage stood unwavering at his post near the bacon station.
The feast continued throughout the day. Sweet and crisp Captain Crunch encrusted mako shark bites. Buffalo chicken wings. Pulled pork, scallion and sweet corn pizza. My cold, happily stuffed was well on its way to settling in for a couple more days. As I sniffled and coughed my way through the beginning of this week, Kelly dutifully shared her recipe for a cool and creamy concoction. And, now, my lovely readers, I pass along the good word to you.
Kelly’s Strawberry Mudslides
Yields a mighty blender’s worth.
1 part vodka (approx. 1/2 cup if looking at the lines on the blender)
1 part Kahlua (approx. 1/2 cup)
1/2 part Bailey’s Irish Cream (approx. 1/4 cup)
16 oz. thawed tub of frozen strawberries (with sugar added)
Ice
Pour into a blender carafe the vodka, Kahlua, Irish cream and strawberries. Fill the remaining space with ice. Secure the top and blend until thick and creamy. If too watery, pour some of the mixture into a cup and add more ice (this is what Kel does sometimes when she adds too much booze, oops). Blend until smooth. Serve with colorful bendy straws.
Wow. You always write well. But this is poetry. It has that lilt, that dance… that lightness of specified nuance. I can’t explain it GREG
i love your pictures! They are so great, the style is just so comfortable ~
Greg/SippitySup,
Thank you, thank you, kind sir. With this post, I emerged from my cold haze. After not writing for many days, the words had time to arrange themselves just so.
Sara,
Many thanks :) I’m a new iPhone owner and have been playing around with a photography app to catch the unexpected shots. Major fun!
Looking at those images, I cannot decide which I crave more. They are all so tempting. But really, Sage has my heart – his snoot all hopeful and fuzzy is too wonderful for words.
Glad that you’re feeling better, even gladder that you shared these with us.
Tara,
Sage is indeed a hopeful lurker in the kitchen. I also caught this photo of his darling mug:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/jen_palatetopen/3969992811/
Rest assured that our friends snuck him tasty nibbles. No doubt.
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