Our Days Are Getting Shorter

I thought Sunday was the summer solstice, but wunderground.com said Seattle had one less second of sunshine. Glad to have done my yoga sun salutations on the correct day, I took a Sunday of solace away from its namesake, hiding inside to watch Harper's Island. The premature solstice worked just dandy for me, letting me play detective for a day. Though my murder mystery miniseries airs on Saturday nights, I've grown up a little since my SNICK days, and watch the show every Sunday afternoon on the nets. 

The June 20th episode, Snap (I love how every episode is named after the sound of someone dying), piqued my interest in a new theory so much, I had to rewatch the first few episodes to look for clues. I completely believe Sheriff Mill's last words to Abby before he died, namely that she's his daughter and that the sheriff didn't kill anyone. John Wakefield, the confirmed killer from seven years ago, offed the sheriff with his preferred method of slaughter, hanging. But what about the murders by other modes?

Evidence points to an accomplice, presumably John Wakefield's real child by Abby's mother. Several murders have been committed by someone in the wedding party, and I'm placing bets on Henry W. Dunn, the groom, ladies and gentlemen. The blood on his hands and cuts on his arms from episode 8, Gurgle, when he was "trying to save JD" have gone unexplained. JD was a convenient scapegoat for a while, but we only have proof of his childish, if occasionally violent, antics. I don't believe he ever killed or conspired to kill anyone, though Henry often harked back to his brother's suicide attempt, implying he had a death wish for more than himself. Perhaps more importantly, Henry's idea in Snap to distract Wakefield by throwing molotov cocktails at a car was absolutely ridiculous. It served to attract his attention to their escape plan, not distract him. The most logical plan would have been to sneak off into the night without blowing up objects along the escape route. The final piece that snaps the puzzle into place? Henry decided to have his wedding on the island, all a grand ploy for Abby to return and for Wakefield and child to seek revenge.

Reviewing early episodes, a few scenes take on added importance. Why did Uncle Marty come to the wedding with a gun and a suitcase of cash? He and Thomas Wellington clearly had unfinished business when he died. Mr. Wellington himself later gave the same suitcase to Hunter Jennings, who was murdered shortly thereafter. Money is a variable in this unsolved killer equation. We must not forget that the Wellingtons are loaded, and with Thomas, the patriarch, Katherine, the wife, and Richard, the lawyer, all dead, the money passes into the hands of the sisters, Shea and Trish. I suspect Shea doesn't have much longer to live, but surely her daughter, Madison, will be one of the few survivors. Madison has been referring to a "new friend" she met on the boat since episode one, and I suspect she has more of the mystery figured out than anyone else. In terms of heirs, that leaves Trish, who continually proves to be a very gullible girl. 

So gullible, she'd marry the murderer. 

A Spring Supper, Rare

I was as capricious as the poppies and peaceful as the peonies. After my Sunday trip to the Capitol Hill Farmers' Market, I was looking forward to a very herbaceous dinner. I found chervil! Though I'd eaten it, I'd never seen it for sale before, since it doesn't last long after being picked. I also took home a beautiful head of butter lettuce, intending to eat it that night. I devised a plan walking home through Cal Anderson Park.

After unpacking my bounty, I picked a little sprig of chervil and stuck it in my mouth. I was surprised by the tickle of mint, the waft of anise! It looked so delicate though, like a little fern or baby cilantro leaves. Inspired and conspiring, I took my now-empty bag back out into the world and found exactly what I wanted at the grocery store, filet mignon on sale. Have you noticed that, thanks to this recession, it's on sale quite often? Back at home, the steak received a salty massage, and sat happily in the fridge while I watched the latest Harper's Island episode. More on Henry Dunn's bloody hands later.

For dinner, I pan-seared the small but thick steaks for about 4 minutes on each side, let them rest for a few minutes, then rolled the edges in dijon mustard, followed by freshly chopped chervil, chives, and parsley. I dressed up the butter lettuce with a nice lemony, slightly mustardy, very herbaceous dressing. Spring was served.

Bugs and I even watched Weeds while digging into our bright green, crusted brown, and juicily pink plates. The new season just came out on DVD, and two discs arrived on Saturday. Aside from instant gratification, the best thing about Netflix, or whatever movie-in-the-mail program you might subscribe to, is the streamlined decision-making process. There's no flipping through channels, no getting sucked into mediocre television. Yes, there's certainly the opportunity for a mind-numbing evening trance. But it cuts to the chase, right to story time.

Speaking of story time, back to Harper's Island. I'm not a big TV person, but this is my show. Mine. It's the only show I watch on my own, that I don't share with my boyfriend, Bugs. I'd really recommend it to anyone who loved Agatha Christie's "Ten Little Indians." It's just the sort of one-by-one murder spree mystery the doctor ordered. My doctor. The one I'm not insured for. Spoiler alert, I think we must seriously reconsider the character Henry Dunn. He may be redeemed in the June 13th episode, but in general we should always be weary of characters whose family members have died in unexplained accidents. Those accidents will be explained by the end of the show, but so far we have no inkling how Henry and JD's parents died. Consider the sons suspect.

Before Bugs came home from work, and between Harper's Island and the 1976 version of Helter Skelter, I also prepared dessert, rhubarb pie. It was my first cooking experience with rhubarb, quite fine and tasty, but I know I can do better next time. The filling was thick and deftly played sweet against tart, but my store-bought puff pastry did not have quite the right texture for pie crust. Bugs and I downed dessert in minutes, with a healthy side of strawberry ice cream, but I know rhubarb has had it's finer moments. The New York Times has three veryLink intriguing rhubarb recipes on their web site. I can't wait to try the duck curry!

I was happy to finally use the rhubarb, since it had sat, unloved, in my fridge for a week or so. I bought it the day my father flew into town, and I fully intended to cook a rhubarb cobbler during his stay. He talks sometimes of his days cutting rhubarb, when he was just a kid visiting his dad in Oregon for the summer, let loose with a machete and actually paid to spend the day outside. They're the kind of stories that seem to be happier, more nostalgic as he ages. My dad and I used to make a good bit of cobbler, too, when I would visit him for the summer in California. He had an apricot tree, and come picking time, we'd be making tart cobblers and jams in his little kitchen. Somehow time slipped by when he came to visit over Memorial Day weekend, and the rhubarb waited patiently for it's day to come. Sunday seemed just right.