A CHICKEN IN EVERY POT

         Today I’ll be in Hog Heaven, or as we used to say, "like a pig in shit." The local twice-a-week paper lists a veritable groaning board of gourmet events to attend. Unfortunately, by not making a reservation in time, I missed out on the Stuyvesant Take Out Lobster Feast, complete with baked potato, homemade coleslaw, roll and Manhattan or New England clam chowder, but not to worry! There is still lots of good eating out there, mostly in the late afternoon. The scheduling presents slight problems to this gourmand,but with a heavy foot and dexterous handling of the clutch, I think I can make it.

         Working North to South, I can begin at the Schodack Ox Roast at noon, followed by the Nassau Chicken Barbecue at three. From Nassau, I will slip down Route 203 to the pizza and wings served by the Kinderhook Lake Improvement Association. I could leave my car there and gain some needed exercise by walking to the Niverville chicken barbecue, but time is of the essence on this grand pig out day.

         I will have to inhale the Niverville delicacies in my car on the way to the Stockport Pig Roast, about fifteen miles south off Route 9. The pig is served between five and six. A pity I could not have gotten to Stockport for the burgers and dogs served earlier in the afternoon. I will have to eat standing, paper plate in hand, for it is another ten plus miles of hard driving to reach Germantown and their chicken and ribs barbecue.

         I wonder if I will have time to play volleyball or horseshoes or listen to the band in Germantown, for the lure of chicken and ribs at the Ancram Chicken Barbecue is mighty tempting. It’s another haul eastward, but they advertise all the chicken, corn, homemade coleslaw and potato salad you can eat.

         At some point I will undoubtedly need a nap and will stretch out in the bucket seat of my car. If I sleep the night, there is the Stottville Breakfast at the Holy Family Church tomorrow morning. The newspaper does not give a menu, but Stottville, being near Stockport, might feature leftovers from the pig roast. After breakfast, I will go home and hide the scale for a few days.

         The idea of a Grand Gourmet Tour came to mind when I peeked into the ‘fridge’ yesterday and realized it was emptying fast. I am not going to bore you with an inventory; I already did that in "SUNDAY DINNER" . I would note that I am in possession of two cans of diet soda purchased in December 2000 and some tahini that I used as a condiment with falafel in the summer of ’99.

         I am not sure what to do with the tahini. I might use it as putty out on the deck. The soda is being saved to toast the day when my grand design for the refrigerator is completed. My office has needed a cabinet to store supplies for some time, and the Kenmore fills the bill neatly. When I have filled it with boxes of paper clips, envelopes, printer cartridges and tape, I will find a refrigerator magnet from Staples and put it on the front.

         Presently the appliance also contains five twelve-ounce bottles of water. Why they were bought I do not know. My water comes from a well on my land. It is pure and fresh, and as you can see, improves the IQ of the resident of the house. I should put the bottles in the freezer, but that space is reserved for bread and a mysterious large dish of lasagna covered by aluminum foil.

         I think the lasagna is Christmas dinner for someone, but I am not sure. Strangers knocked at my door one day in January and asked me to keep the pan in safekeeping until they returned from Patagonia. Supposedly they would keep in touch with me. They were taking laptop computers with them and were supposed to update their home page every two days, but it has been dormant since early May. I hope that they weren’t eaten by gauchos.

         If I do inherit the lasagna, I will have to advertise a lasagna dinner, complete with staples, rubber bands and stamp pad ink. Once I get rid of it, I will have more room in the freezer for my bread. Bread has always been frozen in this house. It has something to do with the fact that every bread box I have owned has signed a non-aggression pact with the ants.

TIME OUT

         WORD@ told me that ‘breadbox’ is spelled wrong and should be two words, and I am not one to ignore Spellcheck. I made the change and now WORD@ marked the two words in green. What could be wrong? I 'moused' the check mark on the tool bar and learned that ‘bread box’ should be one word. I have played this game before. It is called ‘heads I win and tails you lose, but have a cheese cracker.’

END TIME OUT

         Speaking of cheese crackers, they will keep me going during the week while I wait for the next feast weekend, cheese crackers and toast spread with spices from the cabinet. White pepper, coriander and ground sage mixed with a little water should make a sumptuous paste to spread on bread.

         Every Friday afternoon I will fast. Then Saturday I will hit the tables. Look out! While the dinner season will slow down in fall and winter, I did notice this past January that a number of places simply move the celebration indoors, and feature more pasta and less barbecue. Winter is the time for all-you-can-eat spaghetti and meatball suppers.

         You will excuse me if I take a nap now. I have to rest for the grand feast that awaits me. It should tide me over until Thursday, at least. If I time everything right, and hit the Martindale Chiefs Diner just off the Taconic Parkway at midnight for a snack, my reserve will last until Friday. My newspaper tells me that Reform Church in West Ghent has its chicken barbecue next Saturday. I’d better phone ahead for a reservation.

Valatie June 1, 2002