The Waiter

Another quiet day at home yesterday. I finished the second Knausgaard book (long!) and caught up on some New Yorkers. Of course Dave and I also did some gardening -- planted our new teasels and heuchera, potted some more seedlings. I'm enjoying our new aquilegia (above)!

The forget-me-nots on the patio remind me of the title of a book we have in the school library, Grace Lin's "Starry River of the Sky." Don't they look like a starry river, flowing across the patio stones?

We had an episode involving the cosmos seedlings and a squirrel, which dug out the pot when we briefly had our backs turned. I replanted the seedlings and covered the soil with gravel, hoping that would deter future excavation. I don't think the larger seedling is damaged. The smaller one has never looked right and I'll be amazed if it survives.

This is a kalanchoe that I found last year in pretty dire condition in a trash can at the cemetery. I brought it home and rehabilitated it -- and it's rewarded us with flowers.

Someone asked what we had for dinner Wednesday at The Ledbury. We had the tasting menu, which is too complicated to explain -- eight small courses plus a few extra tidbits. One of them was a "warm Bantam's egg" with celeriac, dried ham and mushrooms. Well, I started the evening with a martini and then had a glass of wine or two, so by the time it arrived several courses in, I was a bit, shall we say, uninhibited.

"Oh!" I said to the very proper (and possibly French) waiter, as he set down my plate. "Is this the duck egg?"

It may be my imagination, but a brief shadow seemed to sweep over his face before he said coolly, "It is a hen's egg."

When he went away, Dave and I laughed and laughed. I felt like such a rube -- like the guy in that legendary Polaner All-Fruit commercial who says, "Please pass the jelly!"