Sunday, December 26, 2010. The End Of Christmas. I was the first one up this morning, and was soon out the door to pick up some self-rising flour, butter, and buttermilk. I was determined to bake a batch of biscuits for our family breakfast, to keep the nostalgia of the holiday going. To nail that down entirely, I also bought a less-than-a-pound package of Hormel Black Label center-cut bacon, instead of the standard stuff the Marys usually buy. I fried it up while the biscuits were in the oven. The flavor was a bit musky--like dry-aged beef. I couldn't decide whether I liked it or not. Mary Leigh said she liked it fine. So it must be okay.
The biscuits, of course, were wonderful. The buttermilk's acidity fires off the leavening ingredients in the flour and makes for very fluffy biscuits.
Activities like this with the whole family around the Christmas tree will end today, Mary Ann has decided. Tomorrow morning, she and the next generation will pack up the car and drive to Hot Springs, Virginia. There they will check into a resort called The Homestead--built in 1766--and wallow in the snow. They will certainly find the white stuff. The Northeast is getting slammed by a paralyzing blizzard today, with twenty inches falling in New York City. Where, of course, MA and Jude are considering as a destination during this itinerary.
Reservations are just today being made. That's the way MA does everything: hit the road, wing it and hope to God (literally) that all the pieces fall into place. They usually do, but wondering what could happen if they don't drives me batty.
That's one reason I'm not going with them. The main one is that I have a radio show to do every day this week, and arrangements for taking time off from that have to be made well in advance. Either that or we must stop our travels at midday so we can check into a hotel and do the show from wherever we are. Either way, these big spur-of-the-moment plans are non-starters for me. The best we could work out is that I would fly out later in the week. But Mary Ann hasn't determined where exactly they will be on any given day.
Jude went to a Friends Of Ben Bragg party--essentially, a reunion of his Boy Scout troop, of which the late Ben was a member. The rest of us had dinner at Zea. For some reason I was in the mood for a hamburger. Mary Leigh raised her eyebrows at this. "It's really good, Dad!" she said. Indeed it is. It's what we used to call a steakburger when burgers of this size were unusual. It appeared to be handmade, was crusty on the outside and juicy rare on the inside. The bun was toasted and the dressing were top-class. I can see why Mary Leigh says it's the best burger in town.
This is not, by the way, the Kobe beef hamburger they sell here for something like $16. I've had that and will never do so again. It's not as good as the basic model, just more expensive. It's another restaurant mind game.
Later, we sat around the Christmas tree and experienced family togetherness while everybody but me packed. They allegedly will leave at four in the morning, to try to make it all the way to The Homestead on one day.
