Went for a long slow run today, up to the top of Piney Mountain and then down through North Forest Hills Park, past the zen basketball court in the woods which I had discovered early in lockdown, to which I had taken Graham some weeks later. It was late in the afternoon when we arrived. There was an older Asian man sitting on a bench, taking in the quiet. He looked at us and gave us a big thumbs up and said something like "you guys are super" or somesuch. It was hilarious.
After coming home, I plowed through the slim Japanese detective novel that Santa had picked off of my Amazon list, Seishi Yokomizo's The Honjin Murders, written in 1973, set in 1937, translated in 2019. It was very old school, Agatha Christie-like.
Now it is my turn to make dinner, building off of a stock from the remnants of the New Year's dinner we got from Lantern which contained real live (well, actually, dead) pig tails. They are very fatty. I'm sure they had to put something funky like that in there because otherwise there's no way they could charge $90 for hoppin john and collards.
Thankfully, I have both niangao (traditionally a New Year's food) and kimchi handy, so I can use those in dinner.
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