Kick Back, Relax
Sunday, the reputed day of rest and relaxation, lived up to its sales pitch this time. It’s been a really low-key day today: no tubes into me since the fluids done overnight, no weird meds, and then a nice morning chat with hematologist Dr S just checking in with me. My energy level was decent (more on this in a sec), and my appetite was fine.
I spent the morning fooling around with my Android mobile phone, doing all sorts of geeky hacking. My eyes are happy enough to let me look at screens for as long as I want, which means I’m going through code-hacker withdrawal symptoms now. This is one thing the doctors here will never be able to measure. There was plenty to fiddle with, lots to figure out, and a remarkably content way to spend some of my copious free time. (By the way, why isn’t the word spelled withdrawl instead of with the a in withdrawal?! This is a classic example of a moment when I really believe a word to be misspelled, yet there it is, valid in the OED. Go figure.)
During part of my hack-fest, I listened to a radio show on the Dublin radio station RTE Radio 1 called “Sunday Miscellany” for the first time. I loved it! It’s a really wonderful mix of radio essays, poetry, and music. They’ve got a collection of past shows which I’m going to queue up (or perhaps download directly) after I’m done feeding my No Agenda podcast addiction.
When Elana was able to come by around lunch time, I was able to go down stairs, giving her a duck mask break and so she could eat her lunch while we were together. I procrastinated on the rest I should’ve taken after being so active all morning, of course. Later in the afternoon I finally lay down for a bit of a nap before I ate dinner/tea (the only form of noun I now feel comfortable using, otherwise it’s too ambiguous for anyone not in Ireland).
We had a wonderful day together; many thanks to my Aunt Mary (and quite possibly one or both of the others, I’ve no idea) who has Patrick and Eoin over so E could come in.
New definition of risotto
When I lived in California, my great housemate back then, Jeff, introduced me to the best Italian restaurant in San Francisco: Kuleto’s. It was (and still is, as of a few years ago anyway when I got to go there with my friends in the Dublin Actel engineer gang) quite possibly one of the best restaurants I’ve ever experienced, anywhere. It’s at Kuleto’s that I learned what risotto should taste like. One of my favorite entrees? Saffron risotto with scallops and shrimp. Nom nom nom.
Let me offer you a comparison of that heavenly, divine, wonderful food with—what the hospital kitchen has listed as risotto. On my plate this afternoon for dinner/tea was about 1/3 of a plate of white rice, recolored to look sort of pinkish-orange—maybe paprika? It had an herb, or two, used to put some sort of flavor in it. I think they may have used a little bit of vegetable or chicken broth with it.
Thank goodness I specified “with veg” with my order.
There’s a new law against blasphemy here in Ireland—at least, for a little bit longer. I won’t file a report with the Garda. Often the food is actually quite nice. This time, they tread on dangerous ground. I’m going to be a risotto snob forever because of Kuleto’s.
No doctor and no antibiotic can fix that, either.
