I’ve gone through most of my meals this
week. I don’t have many left. My wife went to Shanghai for a few days and I was
left, on point. After the Christmas
turkey left overs were gone, I made a few Chinese dishes one night. I tried my luck at an Indian curry and some
Saag Peneer the following evening. We
did Italian last evening. I’m losing
momentum. Tonight it is only three of us
and my daughter has given me the thumbs up on burritos.
When I
returned from the market with the bags on the counter it was only four in the
afternoon. I should have sat down and
gotten an hour’s work in but I poured a drink and with the meal I’d mapped out
at the market still in my mind, I would at least get the rice started. May as well open the black bean cans and
slice these peppers
Before long
most of everything that needed to happen, save cooking the tortillas was
done. Now it was nearly five and somehow
that simple transition from afternoon to evening, accompanied by the waning
winter light, sapped most of my must-work energy. I looked over a proposal and began to reread
it but soon my wife walked in and my daughter was downstairs and the smells of
the kitchen pulled everyone to the common space.
The guacamole
was tasty. Beans heaped on the tortilla
with salsa and sour cream and the guac on top.
No one did much talking. But damn
that rice. It was the first thing I’d
made because it always takes so long to cook and it was still wonky. I think that two-for-one ratio on water to
rice is suspect. It’d been sitting
there steaming for well over an hour.
Saturday, 12/29/18
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