It is 104'F/40'C in New York right now. A slow trip into the world left my skin running freely with perspiration. In the apartment, with airconditioning, under the hot roof, it is a cool 79'.
I picked up the ingredients for a supper worthy of a 50's cocktail party. Why be normal when the weather goes bonkers? Golly! So:
Tuna mould. Or mold. Or form. Or shape.
Good canned tuna (meaning in olive oil, and imported), mayonnaise, lemon, a little cream cheese, gelatin, perhaps some chopped up cornichons. Perhaps a squirt of ketchup and a drip of soy...
Cucumber sandwiches. Persian cucumber slices quick-pickled with salt and sugar and rice vinegar, on yesterday's cold-buttered white bread, sliced thinly.
In the fridge an iceberg lettuce (yes, it is food) is wrapped in a clean, damp napkin, having been sat upside down, and core removed, under a dripping tap for a few minutes, per recent instructions from Graeme Hardie. He says that this rehydrates the lettuce. Then it must chill. Then it is super crisp. It will be chunked and drizzled with genu-ine Thousand Island Dressing. As soon as I figure out how to make that. I'm a little frightened.
Gee whiz. Jeepers. Well, gosh. I will be singing as my husband climbs up the stairs, home from subways and hellish heat, and I will give him a condensation-cold drink as he steps in the door.
And when he has had a good long draught, I shall tell him that our first course is chilled yogurt and pigweed soup.
Just in case you thought I had lost my edge.