Two More Weeks with Mischief, and Ducknik's Chile

This is as close as we get to a true Autumn picture on the gritty sidewalks of the inner city. And it's January. Plus, this inner city is not very inner.

The Great Plotnik has loved his morning and afternoon walks with Mischief, but the time is drawing near -- two weeks -- when it'll be time to take him home.

It is very easy to see how people become willingly enslaved by their dogs. Perhaps this is not true for his readers, but Plotnik does not normally get to live in a world of enthusiasm. Neither he nor his friends ever get very excited about anything, unless it's in a negative way, like towards the government.

But pure joy -- that's what Plottie gets from Mischief, and not just some of the time, ALL of the time. In the morning when he comes down to wake up his GrandHumans, and every time anyone walks towards the front door, puts on shoes or rustles a plastic bag, Mischief's life is about getting out of the house so he can put his ears back and race down the hill towards the next tree, house or lamp post. If Heaven really smiles a cat will tear across the sidewalk and the chase will be on. It's a simple way to live.

It's also a good life when Ducknik is back in the kitchen. Recently she has decided to revisit her old standards, the ones she used to cook when she and Plot were dating and then newly married. There still is no fried chicken like Ducknik's -- on their very first date she packed a picnic of fried chicken and brownies, which the two young pre-Plotnikkies consumed on an old blanket spread out on the cool beach at Montauk Point. There may have also been potato salad.

Ducknik also makes a mean chile. She made it last night.



The good part is that now she can dip into Plotnik's extensive chile cabinet to make up a spice blend of pasilla chile, New Mexico chile, Aleppo chile and cumin. That is some FINE chile, bub.

True, Northern California is Northern California. The Plotniks ate their chile over brown saffron rice.