Burgers and red wine...or How to Get Through It.
I don't think I can watch. No TV - and the only night I have regretted the fact - but a live feed from CNN.
Still. I want to stick my head in the sand. Or at least the gravel on the terrace. It is nerve- wracking. I think I may just go to bed.
But before I do, I will make hamburgers. It's about as patriot as I can be. From really good ground beef, organic, that I found at Wholefoods on East Houston, and on brioche buns, bought at Zabar's this afternoon. The Upper (west) West Side. A whole other country. A nice country. About which more, later. And a stellar Cabernet picked up at a nondescript wine store at 117 Smith (also picked up a pre-emptive bottle of Perrier Jouet. Just in case. Oy. Be still my beating heart).
The burger will have, apart from caramelized shallots, a topping of French sheep's milk cheese, but does that matter?
Patriotism? I am not against it. In its most simple and upright expression, it produces food of character with backbone.