Of Cats and Cuisine

Yesterday a little after quitting time P came through the door and asked, "Are you on Zoom right now?"

Had I been, this would've created an issue. Luckily, I was just logging the last of my billable time for the day on the computer.

Turns out, P was asking because she came bearing gifts. Two of them, in fact.

This has been building for weeks, with P sending me photos of critters from animal shelters stretching from here to Rochester. I thought she'd established a new, special relationship with all the frantic messaging, but it turns out the back-and-forth was with owners of kittens and shelter staff, always trying to find the perfect fit after the fiasco of the farm cats back at Wyldswood, one of whom is missing and the other no doubt hiding somewhere on the porch as I write this.

I know P wanted a little life around the house for my mental health as much as anything--a month of only interacting with other humans through Zoom or teleconference for 90% of my time makes me feel like a grumpy recluse. Now I'm a reclusive cat person. I guess that's an improvement.

These two are brothers, one the runt of a large litter and the other his big, protective brother. They sleep wrapped around each other, and when the little one wanders too far the alpha kitten starts whining pathetically. Neither is willing to wander far from the room where they spent their first night here, although I just had to stop typing when the sound of clanging pans warned me that one had crawled into our kitchen cabinets and was tip-toeing with his feces-covered feet all over our pots and pans. I see a cleaning project in my future later.

So, what to name them? We thought about a theme based on their status. Given the very special vet appointment they have scheduled in two weeks, we considered famous eunuchs in history, but there are surprisingly few. Origen, my favorite theologian and advocate of a universalist soteriology, comes to mind. So does the Ethiopian eunuch in the Book of Acts. Seminary has definitely left its mark. We also considered famous brothers--plenty to work with there. If any of you have a clever suggestion, please pass it along, not that they'll ever come when we call, these being cats after all.

Last night we decided to wander down to the Elks Lodge for a drink and some supper. The special was their version of chili, a sweetish concoction that reminded me of Skyline Chili in Cincinnati, ladled over the top of thick pasta. Yes, pasta.

You could get a big dollop of sour cream on top if that was your thing, but I demurred. It was weird fare to the only two Southerners in the place, but surprisingly good. They sent us home with a container filled with leftover pasta they planned to throw away. My lunch plans are all set.

Earlier in the week, Peg prepared a giant crock pot of grits for the OR staff at Guthrie, a cherished ritual of her trips up here. For my Southern readers, if I have any, these aren't the grits you and I grew up eating. There's nearly a half gallon of heavy whipping cream in there, some cheese (I think), peppers, and crumbled up hot breakfast sausage. It is a decadent delight.

The staff apparently sees the white mass as something of a curiosity. Some complain it's too spicy, although by P standards it's pretty tame. Complaints aside, every bit of the grits are gone by the end of the day, and in my mind's eye I can picture some surgeon with his head caught in the crock pot trying to lick up the last bits.

It is nice that, in this age of increasing homogeneity across the country and the world, we still have our culinary quirks. Sure, there's an Applebee's in most big towns, and if you want to live on Sysco processed foods that all look and taste the same from Seattle to Miami, that's always an option. At the same time, there are dive diners and home cooks who preserve the foods that are part of our regional identity, and if I want someone to understand who we are and where we come from as we venture outside our home region, I can't think of a better way to make the introduction than through our cuisine.

Of course, Peg's grits are sort of dolled-up for her audience. And I suspect the folks at Guthrie are a long way from being able to appreciate a stinky slab of country ham smothered in redeye gravy.

Sedition is a long process. One step at a time.