It’s hot. Almost too hot to think. Even the pilot light in the oven has me sweating out a weekend’s worth of martinis and rickeys.
These are the days when you really want to lie about under the ceiling fan and flip lazily through the channels. Or turn off the lights and concentrate on Sunday at the Village Vanguard until you drift into that half-wakeful haze.
What’s worse is that we’ve just entered a “screen-free” week (present company excepted, of course; there is work to do), and the kids are a bit zooey.
So excuse me for a bit. Things are going to get a little disjointed, uneven, haphazard.
Off to make a few BLT’s with the farmer’s market tomatoes and house smoked bacon bought at the Belmont Butchery.