I called Ferdinand from work to see how he was doing and he said, “all right.”
“How was school?”
“All right.”
“Was it a good day?”
“Yea, it was all right.”
“I’ll be home about 11.”
“All right.”
That’s okay–I speak nine year old boy. A language of sometimes no more than two words but with what could be 46 billion different meanings. And like any language, harder to translate over the phone.
I told him that I loved him and then I roasted a prime rib, made a potato gratin w/ fresh sage and garlic, roasted fennel with a drizzle of cream, braised string beans and tossed them with wild mushrooms and caramelized onion (with a clove), tossed endive, radicchio and watercress into a salad and served a cheese from the southwest corner of France and a black truffle cheese from Italy. For dessert, chocolate jonty.