Seafood enchiladas, NSFW brownie implications, guilt

Another day, another crumpet; this one like yesterday's was covered in an amber-colored stickum which I have been told comes from the bellies of garden-bees. Most sticky, most disturbing. To wash this down, I shared a cup of the usual Keurig brew. I have been informed that the half-and-half is fat-free.

Lunch was a six-inch buffalo chicken flatbread sandwich at Subway, with black olives, lettuce, and tomato. The fun stuff? Provolone cheese and a swath of light mayonnaise. Diet cola.

Dinner at Border Café in Harvard Square. An order of Cajun-spiced fried shrimplets, with some kind of honey-mustardish sauce. Nearly a quart of orange soda from the fountain. A few sips from a margarita so over-salted that when she first took a sip, J. asked, to bring me into the experience, if I had ever swallowed seawater: "Like that," she grimaced. My margarita was melon-flavored, blended, made "New Orleans-style" with a splash of Cointreau. Sure it is. We mixed some of the orange soda into the saline cocktail, and it was much improved. Well, more palatable, if not improved.

Half a basket of fresh fried corn tortilla chips and salsa. I chose for the main course a plate of Gulf Coast seafood enchiladas, kind of a smothered/drunken dish, consisting of shrimps and crawfish and unidentified sea-bits stuffed along with green bell pepper and maybe it was onion inside flour tortillas, then buried in a few ladlefuls of creamy sauce. With jambalaya on the side, and sour cream and guacamole atop it all. And rice. So much rice. And a bite of J.'s cornbread.

Afterward, at Tory Row, with Erin and Ethan before his show with East Coast Soul over at Tommy Doyle's on Winthrop in the old House of Blues, a bottle of Harpoon hard cider, a diet cola, and a shared portion of brownie à la mode brownie with, according to the prevailing fashion, a large scoop of vanilla ice creamI probably ate a little more than she did. Definitely did. How often this record turns confessional.