I spent a lot of the day yesterday stewing. I thought about the things I should be doing and didn’t want to do any of them—I didn’t want to blog. I didn’t want to quilt. I didn’t want to iron linens or list them on Etsy. I didn’t want to thread the damn heddles on the loom. I didn’t want to follow Weight Watchers.
It was a thick and heavy stew.
Then it dawned on me—stewing in the summer doesn’t make sense. Stews are for winter and, even then, they taste good only occasionally. They have too much stuff in them. They weigh a person down.
I wanted a different concoction for summer. Something lighter, easier. I had just the recipe but hadn’t made it for far too long.
I needed to dig out my old favorite recipe for “camp,” and make a big batch.
I started with sunshine and a stiff breeze to blow the bugs away. These ingredients have been scarce this summer but I was able to find them when I needed them.
I added a book, a real book. A kind of heavy book, both physically and intellectually, because even a summer meal needs some nutritional value.
I stirred in a chaise lounge, in the sun, near the peonies, and a fleece blanket to tame the breeze.
I napped while it all simmered.
I finished the recipe with a smoky campfire, and seasoned it with some homemade music and a little bourbon.
It was a wonderful, restorative meal. And today I’m having leftovers. I’ll add a garage sale or two, just to spice things up, and go out for a deep-fried lunch, with family and a beer, two ingredients guaranteed to make leftovers better the second time around.
But the basic ingredients will stay the same. Because the recipe for “camp” is a classic and it never gets old. Something so good can’t be bad for me, right?
What are you cooking up today? I’d be happy to share my recipe.