Sit outside

I don’t wait as long as I could anymore; or maybe I wait as long as I can and not a minute longer. I used to wait until I bled. I always thought old people got more patient as their skin sank and everything they ate gave them gas. I thought they just gave into it. I thought it was easier to make them laugh. But I’m that fossilized guy who sits in a broken chair at the mechanic not talking to anybody. Except to make it clear to the mechanic, that what he’s doing is wrong. Just to pass the time. Sucking in the smell of motor oil and breathing it back out again. There’s nothing beautiful about it. I’m disillusioned. If you mention my heart, like you’re some brilliant heart analyst, I’ll have to slap you. I need to eat strawberries or something.

If you’re going to eat strawberries, eat ones with integrity. Taste them. Add just enough sugar to make them pop. Make a sweet biscuit dough of 2 cups flour, 1/2 teaspoon salt, 2 Tablespoons of baking powder, 1/4 cup sugar, then rub in 6 Tablespoons of unsalted, cubed cold butter. with your fingertips, until combined. There will be large pieces of dough and smaller ones. You don’t want uniform. Pat into a rectangle, fold over in half. Pat again. Repeat one more time. Let the dough rest in the fridge for an hour. Pat the dough out until it’s about 1/2 inch thick. Cut biscuits with a glass, without twisting, when cutting. Bake at 425 on a papered sheet pan until golden. Don’t overtake or underbake. (this is me, the mechanic’s wingman)

Beat a pint of organic heavy cream just until loose, soft peaks form. Add some of this cream to a quarter cup of mascarpone, then very gently whisk in the rest of the cream. Split the buscuits and serve with cream and strawberries.

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