I usually have some sort of meat for dinner, with vegetables, maybe a potato, and a salad. On nights when I’m willing to wait on the broiler I’ll burn some toast just like Mom used to. I even make my meals ahead of time so that when I get back from the pool, or the hills, or the woods or grandma’s house or wherever, it’s ready to go.
Last night I just said no.
No, I will not eat the same healthy dish that I’ve been eating for 30 years.
No, I will not sit down and enjoy a favorite.
No, I will not succumb to the desire to eat what I love.
I dug around in the pantry/cat room for something new and unique. I found black eyed peas. Ah ha! Black eyed peas. I hadn’t had those in while. And then I remembered that I grew carrots this summer and had just harvested and put them in the fridge.
My cruddy, clay-like, rocky soil produced the smallest dwarf carrots I’ve ever seen. Shorter than my thumb but as big around as normal, healthy Earthen carrots. And ugly, bumpy and warty like my thumb too. Ahem. Like someone else’s thumb. Not my thumb. I have beautiful thumbs.
It wasn’t easy to peel them, and they didn’t bare much, but my crop of thumb-carrots went nicely in my soup of peas and celery and … water.
The soup was bland. I’m not a good soup maker, what can I say?
Tonight I’ll have chicken with squash and potato. Maybe a salad.
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