We don't really have boxing day here in the US, but my house was clean from Mom and Katerina having just been here, or relatively so. I decided to have some people in. But I forgot to take pictures!
On that rainy evening, we had the kind of simple food I love the best. Since it was kind of Greek Night, everyone else liked it, too. We had mezedes of dolmadakia, tsadziki, olives, etc., then I pulled out a pot of lentil soup with chard. My secret ingredient is to finish it with lemon juice, fresh meyer juice from the tree. Everyone perked up and enjoyed it.
Dave laughed when I said it--but it is true: I am at heart a peasant, a rustic. This is the food I want to give my guests. Then I told some stories in the dining room of my things. They all have a memory, mostly of love. Look up there, that painting was bought at a tag sale for $1! The lady who painted it was shy. Why would someone want it? It is beautiful, simple, true. A haunting yet lyrical landscape. Like a Corot. "Father Corot," as Vincent called him. And to me of course it is priceless.
George had dropped his glasses in the street, drove off, then called me and I went out to find them in the dark. But they were broken. Sorry Yiorgo, those lentils ended up costing you a lot!