Sunday afternoon. The sun is shining, and the breeze is fresh and cool. Summer is on its way out. The day reminds me of the way it is on Thanksgiving in San Diego. Lindz and I are sipping wine, listening to Bach's Brandenburg Concertos and David Gray's "New Day at Midnight," and we are grazing as we read (I'm reading French Chefs Cooking by Michael Buller). Earlier, I made pita chips and we ate those with hummus. Then, (pictured here) I put together some cantaloupe, prosciutto, balsamic vinegar and a bit of black pepper. The wine is A Mano Primitivo. We nibbled some herb crusted buffalo mozzarella next.
All the while, my soup is simmering. It is the remnants of a roast chicken (I used the technique from The Best Recipe, a Cook's Illustrated cookbook), some onion and garlic, some fresh rosemary from my potted herbs, a whole star anise, some pinot grigio, some coarse kosher salt, some fresh black pepper, and some water. We'll eat it sometime this afternoon.
This is wonderful.