Writing this as I sit full of self-pride at making a delicious dinner for us utilising local produce. Very local, as it happens. Geoff-next-door has an Italian parsley plant that's threatening to take over the world, so I've graciously helped him out by making a big hole in it tonight. Made a bowl of salsa verde, roughly like the How to Eat version. If you're interested, assemble the following:
a bunch of parsley, roughly the same size as the ones you see in the supermarket
a tablespoon of capers
some anchovies - Nigella specifies three, but I think that's for cowards. Then again, I love anchovies ...
some olive oil to just (and I mean JUST) cover all the above.
Throw them all into a food processor, or a bowl that you can stick a whizz-stick-thing into, and give them some volts. You choose whether you want a green mush, or something a little chunkier. I like it a little chunky, and Sweeney doesn't like it at all, so it turns out chunky in our house. Also, I don't always put capers in, but if you're fond of that sour taste, go wild.
Works well with fish, potatoes, chicken, or sometimes, just spread on hot toast. Or just out of the bowl on your finger when no-one's looking ...
In other news, Sweeney totally went for it and scootered down the little hill at the south end of our street, then continued actually scootering back to our house. Smooth, confident, co-ordinated. Then repeat, repeat, repeat. And his road awareness is pretty good in the street, too.
However, take him out of our street and he's determined to cross every road by himself, and while Sally and I were having some coffee today, he kept running away and threatening to run out into intersections. Someone intervened today - the first time ever - to stop him running out into Majoribanks St.
How do I get him to take it seriously? I joke to myself that he just needs to be bowled by a car one time, and he'll understand, but then there are times, like today, when I think that it's actually the truth. And of course, some days, he holds my hand and stays close by me, as though we were tethered together by some magical force of road safety. Truly, I don't see anyone else's kid being as unruly as he can be about roads and traffic, so any ideas are welcome.
In other, other news, we checked out the new Wanda Harland shop on Friday night. Much good stuff in there. Sweeney's fave thing was a cushion made from a woollen blanket, with a leather applique deer. He's so edgy. Once I got over my anxiety at how many iced biscuits he was mowing down, I hung out for a bit with lovely people like Nikki and Megan, until the young boys all got a little bit Lord of the Flies on it, and I had to restrain myself from yelling at a five-year-old for punching my kid.
We recovered by eating ice blocks for dinner on the way home. It was a beautiful night, so we went the long way, galloped, skipped and hopped, and encountered a number of our neighbours on their way out to fun Friday nights. Come to think of it, he held my hand all the way home.