All That and Sweet Potatoes Au Gratin

Be my sweet potato
Be my honey lamb
Dance around the campfire
Hang around a while
--Cracker, "Sweet Potato"

Spent the weekend celebrating Monkey and hanging out with folks. Friday we hit Chevy's for Happy Hour, with a cast of irregulars, some with proper Blog names, and some without. I will spare you the details. Fun had by all, of course.

Saturday, Monkey and I saw a matinee (since she didn't have to study all day) of The Night Listener. We enjoyed it (if I may speak for Monkey). I would recommend it. It's a kind of psychological thriller. Not an action packed type of flick, but it keeps you thinking.

After the movie, we went to a local "nice" restaurant for official couple recognition of the end of the Death March (see previous post). The food was good--we both had halibut (Carribean style), and the sweet potatoes au gratin were almost better than the fish!

Sunday, the weather went all Hell on us again--103, after three whole days under 100. We went to Favorite Berry's Main Squeeze's house for some grillin' and chillin'. Good food--turkey burgers with brie (nice), and some damn good potatoes.

A digression on the potato: given the choice of three things that I would have to eat exclusively for the rest of my life, I would probably choose tomatoes, potatoes, and thin-sliced pork chops. And I would probably not eat the pork chops all the time. Something about the potato (and I am thinking here mostly about your workaday russet-like potato, although, if the fine print allows it, I would try to slip in some sweet potatoes and such every now and then; you know, maybe a yam). When I was in my first bout of college, at Towson State University (now, just Towson University), I had this buddy in an acting class who would bring a potato (microwaved/baked) to rehearsal in a Tupperware container every night. And every night, I was one jealous SOB. There I was nibbling on some stale-ass Fritos I got out of the roach-infested vending machines in the basement of Fine Arts (which is a really beautiful building now after the renovations--but I digress in this digression), and he's enjoying the earthy, room tempature goodness of a cooked potato, and he was eating with his hands (well, and his mouth, of course).

But, did I ever bring my own potato to enjoy? No, I suffered for my art, and in subsequent scenes with this particular actor, I used my jealousy as an emotional touchstone. Oh, the wonders of the acting technique. A Moon for the Misbegotten over a potato--aaaaaand scene.

Anyway, good potatoes, good dinners. In between the eating and celebrating, it was Shark Week on the Discovery Channel. We watched a number of cartilaginous fishes chomping down some defrosted tuna pieces and a few arms and legs, too. I have to admit, I wish that the programs would steer a bit away from the sensational and stay more within the educational aspect, but I guess those days are gone. We miss you, Jacques Cousteau!