|Roasted Potatoes Picture from Wikimedia.com|
I am not expecting any more hurricanes this season.
No, it’s not like Granny saying her “Rheumatiz” is firing up and predicting the weather.
It’s more like the pool is cooling, the house is cooling, and the windows are open.
There are just some things you don’t want to do when the weather is hot. Roasting a chicken or some potatoes, or both is one of them.
Of course I know some people who would say that they would never want to do that, for various reasons. But if the temps are in the mid 90s and will be for two months, you tend to hold off doing that sort of thing.
It’s that “Who Needs More Heat” mindset.
But this week has been what passes for cool here. High in the 70s and warming to the low 80s.
Blistering hot for anyone living in the northern latitudes. For us here in Sunny Florida, it’s perfect weather to roast those root vegetables.
No, it’s not a recipe, but since you asked. Scrub the potatoes well, score the flesh, rub with a little olive oil and perhaps salt or pepper or both. Wrap in foil. Toss in the oven at 450F for an hour. Should be close enough.
Larger potatoes take an extra 15 minutes to 30. Test with a fork.
That’s how I have been heating the house. Or at least I did when what passes for cold here arrived.
Yeah, cold. Get out the survival gear, it’s 56!
Someone who is Farenheit Impaired would wonder what on Earth I am talking about. Then do the conversion and wonder why I am complaining about a 15 C Day.
Here, when that happens, we’re all in black, and sunning ourselves on a rock. Yes, Florida turns you into a big lizard. We get cranky and dress for sub freezing temps when things are merely “cool” to the rest of the world.
Tropical countries would agree.
So when we go to the market later this week, I will look long and hard at that Roasting Chicken, and debate getting more potatoes to “Heat the House”.
Wandering around town, I noticed that the people aren’t the only ones noticing.
Rack the SuperDog (TM) also has more energy. The walks are getting crazy long.
Having a smart dog means that they aren’t just a lump of cute. You see, my boy learned the neighborhood. He knows its bounds. He knows where to go and where not to go.
I got up that morning and said “Lets go, Show me walk”.
I was cold and cranky. It was two hours to sunrise. I just wanted to get back inside.
We went out, and got walking. He did his business quickly. Now normally a lazy middle aged dog coupled to a cranky and tired man means a short walk.
Nope. We got out a half mile from home. He turned back toward the house. When we got to the turn to the house he stopped, looked up at me, smiled, and did a 90 degree turn wrenching my arm out of my socket.
I bent down, picked up my detatched arm, slid it back inside the leather jacket that would have been unnecessary had we lived in a more normal climate, and attached it into position.
Turbines whirred, lights flashed, pilot noises happened with servo noises and beeps. My arm was reattached with a metallic click. Handy to have a way to take a trip into the future.
“Rack! Wait up!” I plodded after him.
Or so I thought.
We got to walk back to the house, but when we got there, he spun up his robotic space-legs, and pulled me through a warp in Space-Time past the welcoming abode.
“Boy, are we going for more?”
He looked back at me, smiled again, and I shrugged as we passed into another dimension.
Or maybe not.
Total walk was a three mile long one. Five Kilometers.
He is a herding dog after all.
But that’s the thing. Take advantage of the day, whether it is blistering hot, or frigid cold, or what ever you call it.
There will be fresh potatoes waiting for you when you’re back.