Dreams fulfilled

I'm pretty good at distinguishing between needs and wants when it comes to spending money. Naturally, I'd love all the top-of-the-line cookware and kitchen gadgets, but I'm practical about my purchases. For the things I decide I really need, I generally buy the best that I can reasonably afford, which is not necessarily the thing I desire. (For example, a few years ago, I bought a used 6-quart KitchenAid stand mixer for $100 from a bakery that was going out of business, instead of dropping $300+ on a shiny new red one. My beat-up mixer works fine, of course. It's just not as pretty.) This, of course, leads to a lot of coveting and longing looks when I walk by a Crate and Barrel or Williams-Sonoma store. And that's where birthdays come in handy. When Stella asked what I wanted for my 31st birthday this year, I knew my answer: a Le Creuset 5.5-quart enameled Dutch oven.* It fills that niche between my 4-quart pot from the Martha Stewart set we bought in New Haven (too thin to maintain consistent temperatures) and the large stockpot we got as a wedding gift (often too big and definitely too tall for certain recipes).

It finally came on Thursday and it's everything I dreamed it would be: a beautiful orange-y red that gets darker towards the bottom; heavy; heats evenly; and a cinch to clean (nothing sticks to the enamel!). I made a stew-y soup in it on Sunday and was inordinately pleased when the onions sizzled in it just like on TV. I have big plans for this piece of cookware, including fried chicken, paella, and maybe even a peach cobbler, once I get a chance to hit the farmers' market. Anyone want to come over for dinner?

*Chris, being the 13-year-old boy he is, can't not snicker every time I mention my new Dutch oven. Especially because the color is called "flame."

Vinny, vidi, vici

Last night, as I was in the bathroom brushing my teeth, I could see Vin in the mirror. He was on top of the hallway bookshelf, clearly enthralled by something that was moving around in the hallway. I didn't give it much thought because the cats are easily amused and can spend an hour staring at a bit of cobweb that's flapping in the corner. But then I saw that Carlo was staring at the same thing, so I finally went to investigate. Oooh! Better than a cobweb: it was a mosquito hawk, fluttering around a 2' x 2' section of wall. Fascinating!

I asked Chris to come move it outside* because I will be the first to admit that I am a big baby when it comes to touching most insects. I was never the kid who dug up earthworms and the only time I've ever been asked to hook a worm for fishing, I almost threw up (though more from the idea of stabbing a hook through a live worm than from the mere contact). If spiders get in the house, I go through this elaborate rigamarole of fetching a glass to upend over the spider, finding a piece of paper that's sturdy enough to slide under the glass and not bend when I lift it, and taking the spider outside. For some reason, ants don't bother me that much (they're industrious!) and when I was little, I enjoyed finding pill bugs, getting them to curl up, and shooting them like marbles. Also, I like butterflies and ladybugs, so clearly I am prejudiced toward the pretty insects.

Anyways, the idea of touching most insects gives me the heebies. So I defer to Chris on this matter (and anyway, the hawk was too high for me to reach--I wanted to shoo it outside without killing it, but the only thing I could've done at that point was smack it with a magazine). But I gave Chris too much credit, because he came out with a badminton racquet in hand and his gameplan? To use the racquet to gently guide the bug out the open door (while my job was to keep other insects out and our indoors beasties in). He is not too big on touching insects either, it turns out.

As you can probably guess, it didn't go too well. We failed to communicate to the mosquito hawk how the plan would go down. It kept trying to escape the racquet and Chris ended up driving it further into the apartment, where it found another small segment of wall against which to flutter ineffectively. Unfortunately, it sealed its own fate when it chose that particular wall, because in a flash of grey, Vin was up on the bookshelf and as a drawn-out "Nooooo!!" was coming out of my mouth, he jumped out and smacked an outstretched white paw against the wall. Bulls-eye. The worst (and funniest part) was how he dragged his paw down the wall (with his claws going "screeeee!!" the whole way), as if making sure the hawk was dead. It was dead. It's delicate little carcass fluttered to the ground, and not wanting to forego the spoils of victory, Vin hopped down after it and two chomps later, the mosquito hawk was no more.

This last series of events? From the hawk finding a new wall to finding itself in Vin's belly? Five seconds. Maybe. It never had a chance when faced with Vin the Destroyer. Luckily for us, he is also polite enough to clean up all evidence of his killing sprees.

*I was under the mistaken impression that mosquito hawks eat mosquitoes. Sadly, this is not true. This makes me less inclined to do the ushering-them-out-the-door dance and more inclined to just let Killer Kat take care of them.