Fucking T.S.
So
Long, February! Let us all heave a sigh
of relief and raise a big full cup for the passing of the dourest month of
year.
This
February has been a particularly onerous out here in Colorado where we’re
accustomed to tons of sun with our winter. But judging by my general
crankiness, I’d say the number of days lighting my face this month has been easily
snipped in two. I know half the U.S. has been laboring under the polar vortex,
and while we’ve nothing like that here in Colorado, this February has been the
cloudiest in recent memory. That’s a tough “cell” for people living in what is
essentially the banana belt of the West. No sun: No fun. I stomp through my days, growl at my
students, hang a scowl on my face.
But
then I plot my small revenge with a little naughtiness: An evening of bawdy poetry and lusty food
with a cast of cheeky characters.
For
two full decades, I’ve been shooting the finger at the way too serious and way
too verbose Modernist who famously and poetically proclaimed “April is the
cruelest month” while also lightening what is decidedly the heaviest 28 days of
the year with the Fuck T.S. Eliot Party.
This
year, we took a bath.
I’ve
long been hoarding two cans of imported salt pack anchovies to make bagna cauda (“hot bath”), a Northern
Italian appetizer made from olive oil, butter, garlic and the deboned fish, that
my family ate as a celebratory meal during the winter months.
It’s the perfect
party food: You stand around a heated earthenware
pot or electric skillet and cook sirloin, shrimp, and raw vegetables while
drinking red wine, using a thick piece of chewy ciabatta for a plate.
There
is a suitcase heavy with traditions that goes with the eating of what is
affectionately called “BC” in my family, but this year, free of family
constructs, I injected some new ideas of my own. While my Italian father preferred prepared
veggies like canned asparagus and marinated artichoke hearts, I served the more
traditional fennel, along with raw asparagus, cauliflower, and Brussels sprouts,
all of which cook quite nicely in the anchovy-laced hot bath.
The
evening started with one of my traditions:
The T.S. Eliot toast. Everyone raised
a bit to bubbly and shouted “Fuck T.S.!” and then we ate oysters and asparagus,
which not only open the palate, but recall other pleasingly naughty parts.
It was
perfect.
So long, February!
fligadjecpa_1991 Sheila Moore https://wakelet.com/wake/ubTxyaZFPiwTXyVtGxj8H
ReplyDeletepernewgbehndiss
WrimeWpal_geAtlanta Eddie Morgan Google Chrome browser
ReplyDelete1Password Pro
Tor browser
liasuppluho