edge of the continent

I’ve stopped moving just long enough to realize how tired and achy I am. Maybe my doctor was onto something.

- - -

Inspired by a friend, who was spurred on by his friend, here is a list of the books I am in various stages of finishing:

– Making Waves, edited by Asian Women United of California
– Julie & Julia, Julie Powell
– Lies My Teachers Told Me, James Loewen
– Freakonomics, Steven D. Levitt & Stephen J. Dubner
– Getting Things Done, David Allen
– Corpse, Jessica Snyder-Sachs

Additionally, I left home long enough this morning to pick up the following at the library:
– White Teeth, Zadie Smith
– The Portable Hawthorne, edited by Malcolm Cowley
– The Devil Wears Prada, Lauren Weisberger

And finally, after a colleague emailed two of his favorite poems to me, I am happily flipping through a couple of favorites from my shelves: Kevin Young’s Jelly Roll and a collection of Anna Akhmatova’s work.

Last summer, I started thinking it would be a neat project to read my way through Modern Library’s 100 Best lists before my next decade rolled around. Those book lists, I thought, could be made more relevant to me with the creation of my own list of works by women, authors of color, and non-Americans that shouldn’t be missed. I managed to file away that idea without moving on it as the season slipped by, but I was reminded of it today while perusing the stacks and decided to create a starting point for my list — ten titles — by this summer’s end.

To add to all this reading goodness, a couple of friends and I have been tossing around the idea of starting a book club for several weeks now. While we certainly don’t need an excuse to socialize, we don’t seem to mind making up occasions to get together over drinks and snackage. I suspect that the group’s organization may fall on my shoulders if it’s going to move from “nice idea we keep talking about” to “actual thing we do every month”, but I don’t mind; besides, we could use something to fill the void left in our lives after American Idol ended (it’s all about the Soul Patrol, baby!).

I took the afternoon off as well as tomorrow and (possibly) Friday at my doctor’s insistence. Physically, I’ve been feeling off for two weeks but had assumed it was due to my heat-induced misery rather than any particular medical woe. While I understand her point was for me to rest and recuperate, I feel useless and silly doing nothing when there’s so much work to be done at the office.

So far, I have:
– eaten a couple of bland, uninspired meals
– sat very still
– checked my email (mistake #1, I’m too tired to respond properly to folks)
– bought stuff online (possible mistake #2, I’m too tired to check my budget)
– napped (definite mistake #3, waking up from a nap in hot, sticky weather is such wretchedness)
– flipped through a pair of books without really looking at them
– finished two loads of laundry

And I get to do it again tomorrow. I can hardly wait.

In the interest of making a dent in the long list of books I’d like to read (as well as in the much more recently developed interest of really pushing to read something, anything that is not a textbook), I’ve once again turned off the television for the summer. Much like last year, I can rent movies to my heart’s content, but the set otherwise stays off from Memorial Day weekend through Labor Day.

I’ve been working on several books these last few weeks as well as catching up on an unmentionable number of magazines I’m subscribed to, so I’m only now managing to finish any one particular thing: Ruth Reichl’s Garlic and Sapphires, a terrific account of her tenure as the New York Times restaurant critic, her food adventures in the city, and of the many disguises she created in order to conduct her reviews. I was introduced to her work several years ago when I picked up a copy of her first memoir, Tender at the Bone, on a whim. I read it over a weekend and immediately bought her second book, Comfort Me With Apples. As with her previous memoirs, Garlic and Sapphires is laced with recipes for tasty-sounding dishes that she prepares as events unfold. (I’ve yet to try any of them, however; I am much more of an armchair cook than anything.) Reichl has an intimate style that easily draws me into her table conversations or kitchen, as the case may be. And I love the way she writes about food: of its ability to nourish and inspire, and of how it can be woven so strongly into our memories of our families, friends, and lives long since passed. Her work is funny and tender and a lovely read.

I went to the market this afternoon to purchase ingredients for the lumpia I agreed to bring to a potluck. Bean sprouts, green beans, and jicama all went into my basket as I searched the produce for vegetables to accompany the shrimp I wanted to use in the filling. As I turned toward the seafood counters with its long tables covered in all manner of fish, I saw something I had to buy: lychees. The size of an unshelled walnut and protected by a bumpy outer skin, each lychee resembled what I imagine a prehistoric strawberry would look like. I’d not eaten fresh lychees before, only canned, so I grabbed a netting-bag filled with them to take home.

When making lumpia, it’s the prep work that takes me the longest to complete. I don’t have the best knife skills, so it was some time before I managed to halve and de-vein a pound of shrimp, julienne the jicama, slice the green beans into thin, neatly-formed pieces, and separate the wrappers. My potluck companions included a vegetarian and a friend with a shellfish allergy, so I diligently set up my workspace and tools in order to prepare a separate, half-order sans shrimp for the two of them. The veggies were sauteed with a little soy sauce, vegetable broth, and seasonings to soften them up a bit. The balance of the ingredients was sauteed until the shrimp were cooked; both batches were spread over cookie sheets to cool faster, as I was running out of time. Wrapped, then fried, I bundled up my rolls and hit the road.

Served with a sweet chili sauce, both versions were a hit with the crowd. The next time I make them I will drain the filling a bit longer, though, as the juices softened the wrappers too much during the forty-minute drive to the host’s home in north county. If circumstances permit, I may also consider frying them on location to keep them crisper for a little while longer.

After a meal of hot soup, heavy entrees, wine, and a decadent strawberry tiramisu, I craved something cold, simple, and light. When I returned home, I pulled out the lychees I had left cooling in the refrigerator:

Slicing through the skin with a knife revealed slightly firm, semi-translucent, white flesh that easily popped out of its protective covering. Each bite of the fruit was a joy: it was like drinking tiny cups of cold, sweet water. On a warm night promising true summer just around the corner, those chilled lychees hit the spot.