When I was out picking greens for tonight's supper, this one showed up. The chickens gathered nearby, hoping for some human-given treat.
As they do.
The man is home. He is home safe and sound and laundry is going and Cuban bread is rising and the meat is still simmering and greens are cooking. As I said last night, I've never even eaten Ropa Vieja so I don't really know how it's supposed to taste but goddam, this is going to taste good whether it tastes like Ropa Vieja or not. I combined about six different recipes and added what I thought would taste good so I suppose it shall be Venison Ropa Vieja according to Maria Luna.
I've shredded the meat not with a fork but with a wooden spoon that Gibson used as a percussion instrument, turning the rounded edges into sharp angles.
It's been a good year for the hunter and so I need to find as many good recipes for this clean meat as I can come up with.
The church next door is cranking up, the kitchen is aromatic as hell, my husband is settling into his chair, texting and sending pictures to all of our kids and I'm trying to adapt to being a wife rather than an old single woman and I'm sipping on a martini. Rice is on the boil, the bread is rising.
This is the way it is in Lloyd, Florida tonight.