So much is going on in my hamster wheel of a life I’ve neglected writing yet again for the drool-inducing solace of the rapidly declining pile of food memoirs on my dresser. Yeah, I guess you have to stoke the fire every once in awhile, so after polishing off Two For The Road I devoured Waiter Rant, which was really not all that ranty, considering. Today I began The Tenth Muse, and am approximately 56 pages in love with the damn thing. It’s been a real foodcentric day for me- for mother’s day mom and I spent a solid hour and a half in a co-op halfway between her house and mine, picking out some thyme and sea salt tortas (I loved their wax papered, hand-wrapped packaging… though the crisps themselves weren’t bad either!) from Seville, Purple Haze Cypress Grove chevre, raspberries, some aranciata SanPellegrinos and a raisin molasses cookie for dessert.
After taking with mom on the riverbank over our handpicked goodies, we headed our separate ways. I’ve been battling a cough that currently demands as much attention from me as a repeated bludgeoning of the balls (or so I would imagine, anyway), and my attention was doled out in the form of soup. I figured something spicy and brothy would be good for me (and the equally achey C, who caught my “allergies” pretty quick… oops, sorry, guess I didn’t develop new allergies at the age of 23 after all!?), so I threw together a wannabe pho, packed it with shrimp and called it good. Now I’m turning in and waiting for the Nyquil to (hopefully) vaporize my brain into a sleepy puddle of (non work-related) dreams. Oh, yeah, and I left my cook job. That’s a long story, and one I’ve decided to mark “not internet appropriate,” since there’s some of animosity in my parting… anyhow my last day was Friday and though last night my sleep was riddled with total-chaos/ULTRA STRESS ZONE dreams, I’m hoping that my subconscious will catch on to the fact that I’m not there every day and will shortly allow my dreams to get back to their regularly scheduled programming. You know, of like, headless centaurs floating through the rafters of a vacation home your parents abandoned you at, or your friends emerging from beneath a giant pile of hookers in a clearly marked “HIV POSITIVE ZONE.” What, you don’t dream like that? My dreams are a hoot, and I’d like them back asap. I think I’ll drift off to Netflix Instant Streaming “Kings of Pastry,” now. Oh, and what the hell, have a photo of the ginger vodka freshwater oyster shooters my friends and I downed last Thursday (coincidentally it was Cinco de Mayo, but we’d forgotten that when we chose a Louisiana eatery). They were… well, as a lover of all things shellfish, it was awesome. It was also crazy fucking weird. And with that last eloquent sentence, I can see that the Nyquil has begun to take effect. So, goodnight!