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  • This morning's Wimbledon final between Federer and Roddick. 5-7, 7-6 (8-6), 7-6 (7-5), 3-6, 16-14. Roddick played his heart out; Federer's serve (50 aces, good God) and stamina saw him through. As someone on the TennisWorld forums suggested, I suspect I'll be rooting for Fed to reach Slam semifinal #22 at the US Open but for Roddick to capture the whole thing. (I like Nadal and Murray and DelPo as well, but my heart will be with the older guys as long as they're active.)


  • Went to a pool party in the afternoon: blueberry margaritas, stuffed peppers, and naps. Bliss.


  • Read Lauren F. Winner's Mudhouse Sabbath last night. I want to remember this passage:


    One of my food teachers is an Episcopal priest-cum-chef, Robert Farrar Capon. In 1968, Capon wrote a slender book called The Supper of the Lamb. It's part cookbook, part theological meditation -- something like M.F.K. Fisher meets the desert fathers. (The book is, in fact, organized around a lamb recipe, and the title's biblical allusion is not accidental.)

    The second chapter of The Supper of the Lamb begins with the slightly absurd instruction to spend "sixty minutes or so" chopping an onion. One onion, sixty minutes. The hour is to begin with the chopper looking at the onion, encountering the onion, having a "material...meeting" with it. After noticing its shape, its top and bottom, its blemishes, you proceed to removing its skin, moving so carefuly that you do not puncture, let alone slice, the flesh of the onion itself. And on and on Capon leads us, through a veritable onion meditation. By the end of the chapter one wonders if a single hour is enough time.


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