Spanish views from a small town

Today was one of those days with some meat in the fridge, a few vegetables, and no idea of what to make for lunch. So, I faced the bookshelves with the cookbooks, and drew out an old friend.  The American Woman's Cookbook , first published in 1938, has been with me since I was a teenager. My edition is from 1948, and has several color plates, besides black and white photos. In Boston, we owned a triple decker and rented out two of the apartments. One tenant, who moved out, left behind a box for the trash man with old magazines and a couple of books, among them the cookbook. I rescued it, and loved to read the recipes, and all the curious, to me, information about entertaining guests, setting tables, making menus, and information about food that time had passed by, such as buying canned food by numbered cans and even how to pasteurize milk at home. I have made some of the recipes in it over the years, such as Beef Miroton, or Fillet of Flounder au Gratin, or Chocolate Chip Cookies, ...

The days continue, sunlight dancing on our eyes, wind blowing through the crannies, swirling the leaves upside down. Days that seem normal now, until we step somewhere that used to be teeming with people living their normal lives. Now, they stay apart and wear masks, swerving to avoid others.  Days continue with meals being made and eaten. Simple meals, usually, unless I feel inspired and want to spend time in the kitchen, concentrating on cobbling together something more exotic. Or I'm forced to do so on specific days, such as Christmas. Generally, I'm too impatient and get too hungry, so I go for the faster meals. Our daughter is a vegetarian and, during the lockdown, sometimes sent us photos and videos of her making her lunch. She told us she made a rice to die for and that she would make it for us when she came home. She did so yesterday evening. Mine she made with little salt, plenty of hot pepper, coloring, bay leaves, and garlic. Her father's was the same, exce...

Life goes on, day after day. Our basic needs must be met. We need to eat. That means someone has to cook. That someone is always me. Every day, at midday, I open the fridge and decide what to make for lunch. Luckily, I like to cook in general. I like good, tasty food. But that doesn't mean that having to cook seven days a week, 365 days a year, with special menus for special days, doesn't take a toll on me. There are days I wish we could order or that we could go eat out. That doesn't happen, because there are no restaurants in the area that deliver, and, economically speaking, eating out on a regular basis is not an option.  So, I open the fridge and look at my options. I made chops two days ago. I made caldo yesterday. I made a chicken stew last Thursday. I made a fish stew on Friday. I keep looking at my options. I am so jaded that nothing comes to mind. I take out a packet of pork loin chops from the freezer and something creeps into my head. Scalloped potatoes wi...