In the Basement Bistro

"We eat well," remarked one of us. Any one of us. Any time we eat dinner. Why? Because we do. We do.

Erin took some chicken, potatoes, sweet onions, pineapple, and a glaze that I wish they sold in a can or maybe a bottle made of recycled glass (sustainability!) and threw it all on the grill (?) and when the electronic thermometer read 165 degrees, we ate it.

Well, it was more complicated than that. It tasted much more complicated than that. Yet, the meal was overflowing with the simplicity of perfection.

Plated:

Ated:

"We eat well," remarked one of us.

Blue Hawaiian Sunday

Emma tried to get into the garbage.

"She just lifted that nose with her lid," said Josh, wrongly.

Then, "I'm a dyslexic talk-ler," said he, wrongierly.

Sometimes we forget to post on "Basementing" because we're having too much fun.

"It's probably healthier that we all live together," remarked Erin, "since laughter is good for you."

"Also," said I, "because no one else could live with any of us. So it's healthy for everyone."

We're listening to Hawaiian music from the 50s and 60s. You know the type. Not exactly authentic Polynesian music (some of it sounds downright country-western), but evocative of one's impressions of the island state.

From whence appeared these old albums? Please. Adam's record cabinet. Ah, the snap & pop of slack key guitars and ukuleles! The curiously Caucasian hula dancers and Hawaiian princesses on the album covers! Glorious sea-blues and orchid pinks!

Aloha-ay, Baseniks!

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