We watched nearly the entire season of Normal People last night, and the only problem I really had with it is that a lot of the soundtrack and cinematography is dreamy enough that I nodded off a few times during the later episodes. Though that may have had more to do with all-night puppy duty, who knows.
Normal People reminds me a little of Call Me by Your Name in a number of ways, but especially in that it gives you the feeling of sometimes having seen things you shouldn’t, like if you were at your friend’s party and overheard her fighting with her husband while you were in the kitchen getting more chips. It’s a very quiet show, you can sort of drop in and get lost in it. Very good for overly busy brains right now.
I think I’ve mentioned this recipe before, but I must once again recommend this New York Times version of chicken piccata. I don’t know that I believe Ali Slagle’s assertion that it takes 25 minutes to make, but it’s not terribly difficult or too involved and the result is so outstanding. I mean…this is from someone who dearly loves chicken piccata, so YMMV, but I think it holds up.
Before we bought our house we lived on the second floor of a duplex (the one that went on fire) in a kind of restaurant desert. This was mostly fine because part of the reason for living in that apartment, in that neighborhood, at that particular time, was to save as much money as possible in order to someday saddle ourselves with homeownership. But sometimes we’d splurge and get carryout from a little place a few miles up the road, and I always ordered their chicken piccata. I thought about that restaurant last night while I was cooking, and I hope they will be okay. So many beloved places are going to be lost in the aftermath of what is happening right now, no matter how much carryout we all order. I hate it.
I sent my mom some flowers for Mother’s Day, which arrived on Friday. You can’t predict when anything is actually going to show up anymore. The wine I ordered for her won’t be delivered until Wednesday. One of the bottles is called Coeur de la Reine (The Queen’s Heart) which I figured was appropriate for the holiday, I hope she will enjoy it. When I was a kid, my parents never kept much alcohol in the house and now they are constantly texting me pictures of the pitcher of sangria they are drinking out on their porch. They grow up so fast!