Fine dining...

My aunt and uncle, Tia L and El Capitan, drove into town this afternoon after almost two weeks of doctors visits and cancer testing hoo-haw at a center up in Seattle that specializes in lymphoma. They'll be in town until Monday, and The Notorious M.O.M. is out of town, so the three of us get to hang out for the duration. Very happy over here.

The showed up around 4, and we sat around and chewed the fat for a while. Tia L wasn't feeling all that great because she had a lung biopsy yesterday, so she took a nap while El Capitan and I walked with the pup to the grocery store.

I rarely have the chance to cook for someone in my home. Even when I invite friends over, they often bring food with them. So I was kind of in a twitter about feeding someone. El Capitan had suggested going out to dinner, but I figure, when you've been traveling and doing doctor's visits and whatnot for two weeks, it can be a lot nicer to have a home-cooked meal than go to yet another restaraunt. So I wanted to cook for them.

But what, oh what, can your UCM cook with any degree of confidence? Let me tell you: Not much.

(Yes, some of you have had my soups, and a recent version of my aunt's jambalaya went over quite well, but when one of my classmates recently asked of my the dishes I ate at school all summer, "Weren't you going through a chicken cutlet phase at one point?" that pretty much made the point about my limited cooking repetoire. ... For the record, I never went through a "chicken cutlet" phase, but I did eat a lot of boneless skinless chicken thighs and breasts this summer.)

Anyway, I decided to cook something I pretty much NEVER screw up: salmon poached in wine and vegetable stock with loads of dill and lemons. I whipped up a citrus-yogurt sauce to top it. For sides, I made some roasted potatoes with rosemary and some fresh green beans.

I stood in the kitchen preparing this while they sat at my dining table and gave me the third degree about my little ritual action last weekend. They wanted to know *all* about it, including what I was wearing. I talked as I prepped the food and fended off their frequent offers to help me in the kitchen.

It was a useful conversation because El Capitan being the brother of The Notorious M.O.M. was able to validate a lot of things I was saying about her. In short, we all agree that she has no comprehension of the idea that people have different perspectives. As far as we can tell, she sees that there is ONE world, and it's the world according to her. The rest of us are irrelevant.

El Capitan said, "I'm sure you've had it 10 times worse than me, and all my life, she has painted me out as the black sheep of the family, and I never got that."

There's a good reason he "never got that:" He never was the black sheep of the family. In fact, he would probably win Mr. Popularity in our extended family. He's one of the best men I've ever known in my life. But in my mom's opinion, he did all sorts of effed up things. Like join the Peace Corps.

But I digress.

So I told them about the ritual deal while I made dinner. At one point, I repeated the comments my sister, dad and brother had made about having their "own family" now and not needing the family from which we all spawned.

My uncle rolled his eyes and said my brother was more like my father than he knew. After a minute, he looked at me and said, "Well, we're your family."

Tia L chimed in, "Yeah, we've decided to adopt you."

Those were some of the sweetest words I've ever heard.

At that point, my youngest cousin, Spitfire, called my aunt to complain that her boyfriend is acting "even weirder on Friday the 13th than he normally does." So while Tia L chatted with her, I finished making dinner. They set the table, and we all sat down to eat.

I thought the sauce I made was a little bitter -- too much orange zest, I think -- but Tia L and El Capitan seemed pleased. Then, Tia L said, "This is like fine dining."

Fine dining? I repeated, shocked that she would rate my salmon and roasted potatoes so highly.

She lifted the napkin from her lap and explained, "Cloth napkins. It's been so long since I ate with cloth napkins. I don't know why we don't do that anymore. So much nicer. And so much less waste." There was a long pause, and then she added, "Oh, and this salmon is so perfectly flakey and moist. How did you cook it?"

The only way I know how, I replied.