A Rainy Afternoon in Portland: Dinner at Home with Dolly-girl and Me

The bell on the gate tinkled. "It's me". Kitty. "Come on in, we're decent." Me and Dolly-girl were enjoying a Friday evening cocktail on our patio--used to be a driveway, but Dolly-girl got the idea that a gate and fence would make it a patio, and she was right. I was home from the day downtown, across the river, doing what I do over there across the river. Leave it be that I spent the day in the courthouse, follow? Anyway, Kitty comes in, flops, and says hey. "Day-ender?" "No." "Gotcha, mind if I have another?" "Nope." "Good." "Dolly-girl?" "Skidrow, and make her a blond." "Gotcha."





Kitty and Dolly-girl started chewing the fat while I poured some brown whiskey over ice and grabbed my Luckies. I like to have them around, just in case I get the urge. I parked my heater for the day, changed the blower to ring, and looked out the window at the street. The usual. Nothing. Dolly-girl and me live in a quiet part of Stumptown where you walk to the action instead of having it walk on you. We like it that way. I joined the game already in progress; Kitty was giving Dolly-girl some garden talk. Seemed to center on pruning. Kitty's got a Paul Bunyan reputation for pruning...






We traded our takes on the day for a while, then Kitty asked what we were doing Sunday. "Nothing much." When it comes to hen fruit, Dolly-girl and me wreck 'em and flop em' but we don't hide 'em, which was going to be rigore Sunday provided that il

coniglio di Pasqua didn't drown. April in Stumptown means rain. I heard the weather on the Zenith when I was shaving. I said that Dolly-girl and me thought we'd sling some hash ourselves and Kitty was welcome to put on the feedbag with us. She nodded.

It occured to me that a guy I see from time-to-time when I need to see him was alone--his chiquita was out east working up the details on some new land that had come her way. I called South Dakota Slim. "It's me." "Yeah." "Sunday dinner?" "Yeah." "4." "Yeah." He doesn't say much unless he's got 12 strings on a box in his hands.

We started talking whadda-ya-wants. Dolly-girl makes some great what's-up-docs so she anted up with them. Kitty's a baker. "Loaves, a couple." "And I'll raise a dessert. I'll mix some twist with some sand, beat up some hen feathers, and put it in a crust." "OK, me, I'll grill some asparagi, make a bistecca a paisano and burn it on the coals." We were set.



Dolly-girl had some fish she needed to fry in the form of poems that needed written, so after she fixed up the table, she headed off for her garret. She gave me a peek through the wave on her way by and purred, "Cut up the docs for me will you?" She knew I would. I took off their skins and cut them thin. I knew she was going to cook them up with some Marsala later. I tossed a couple golden bleeders in the oven figuring to slice them, throw on a little oil and balsamic, and sprinkle them with some sale marino .


I sliced the bossy and smacked her with a mallet--she's got to be thin so I can roll her around some peppers, basil, parm, and a couple of slices of parma, and I don't mean the suburb of Cleveland. I dropped her in some oil, wine, parsley, and garlic to soften her up. Later, I tied her up like a dog in heat and put her in the fridge.




South Dakota Slim likes the skidrow and I knew he'd bring some, but I had a couple bottles of vino rosso to spare, and some of the blondy for Dolly-girl. Kitty goes both ways on the skidrow--whatever's open is hitting her spot.

Me and Dolly-girl always like to have a few kick-it-offs for people to chew on before we sling the hash. Today it's some finocchiona di Venezia, treccione affumicato, bianco grande, olive, e peperone rosso. "Hey, what's with the Italiano?" I hear you asking. Me and Dolly-girl are trying to climb back on the Rosetta Stone. Besides, it's la cena di Pasqua.




The dinner came off good. The meat stayed rolled up, the what's-up-docs were just right, the long green was, well, long and green. The twist with feathers was just as advertised--the perfect end to la cena di Pasqua.






Round about the time it was to say our good-nights, South Dakota Slim decided he had to head back to his part of Stumptown and Kitty was ready to mosey on down the street. Dolly-girl was doing the clean-up while I added a few words to this story. I suppose we could have done a "live blog" but then it would have been from years ago. Back to the future or forward to the past. That's the way we live.