The Warrior’s Apprentice, by Lois McMaster Bujold

This is, technically the first novel in the (Miles) Vorkosigan saga, although it may or may not have been the first one written/published, and there are stories that take place earlier in the Vorkosigan universe chronology, but this is kinda, sorta, more or less where it all began. Or maybe not.

I confess I find the whole thing more than a little bit confusing, and trying to sort it out just gives me a headache*. In this regard, I am a bit like Miles Vorkosigan, the protagonist of this novel. His story is not so much a narrative as an accretion of escalating crises and obstacles that he must bluff, finesse, or simply demolish in order to save his own skin, pay off a mountain of debt he incurs, resolve one interplanetary war and keep another empire from suffering a coup. Also, there are spaceships and doomed romance.

I’ve worked my way through most of the series, and took advantage of a recent library book sale (twenty-five cent paperbacks; how can you go wrong?) to come back around to this one.

[*Note, if you're the sort of obsessive-compulsive SF completist who feels compelled to explain things like this in exhaustive, patronizing, and DSM-IV-diagnosable personality disorderly detail, please be aware of the following: a) if I truly cared to be enlightened, I possess sufficient brainpower to work it out for myself; and b) I'm exaggerating my ignorance just a smidge.]

That 70s Chow

Had an unintentionally retro dinner last night. We had thought The Lovely Wife was going to be out of town for the evening, and I had picked up a nice steak for my dinner. When her plans changed, I need to respond accordingly, the piece of steak in question being not quite sufficient to feed two people. The result was like a trip back in time:

Meatloaf (leftover, pan-fried)

Wild rice

Glazed carrots (because sometimes the prospect of one more serving of steamed broccoli, a.k.a, The Fallback Vegetable, is too depressing to contemplate)

Granted, none of these items ever really disappeared from the American dinner plate, but at the same time, the combination seems — and tastes — like something from another time. Sort of like Swedish meatballs. Not comfort food necessarily, or at least not exclusively so. There was no conscious yearning for comfort or simplicity in last night’s dinner, merely a question of expediency. One look at the combination on the plate, though, and both The Lovely Wife and I felt the stirrings of nostalgia. As TLW joked, all it would have taken was a can of Tab to make the entire experience complete (although Diet Dr. Pepper provided a reasonable subsitute).

The familiarity came from the complete package of protein, starch, and vegtable. Meatloaf is a common participant in the family table — as are other slightly retro dishes like tuna casserole and beef stroganoff — and rarely makes the bold statement it made during last night’s meal. We certainly eat rice in enough combinations and variations that there should have been no surprise either. As for the carrots, I will note that we tend to buy the bagged baby carrots, whereas last night I used regular, full size carrots. It’s been a while since I bought “real” carrots, and I had forgotten how much more flavor and complexity they have compared with their scale-model cousins. Ultimately, though, I think the butter and brown sugar glaze (and the dash of dried parsley thrown in at the last minute) was the key that opened the lock of memory in this case. It was an uncommon enough choice that it elevated — or possibly grounded — the meal in a way we don’t see terribly often.