Part of the "rind" or outer whorl of a Pillsbury cinnamon bun, rejected by J. in a fit of culinary pique. A Pillsbury biscuit, left over from dinner the night before, with oleo and apple butter. A can of diet Mountain Dew.
A work lunch at Elephant Walk, Brookline -- salad of spring greens, pamplemousse with a drizzle of balsamic, and a goat cheese galette. Entree, a pan-roasted cod fillet over a raft of spinach, with cheddar cheese gnocchi and a cheddar-wine sauce. Also five pieces of the little baguette-ette bread they brought to the table, with butter, and five glasses of water. Five!
At the Clarion meeting at Panera at six, a toffee-chip cookie, recommended by the counter girl as "the best kind'.
At 10:30, when we had arrived back in Lunenburg (following a failed attempt to redeem a gift certificate at Texas Roadhouse in Leominster -- they'd closed early!), dinner was two inches of (I think chicken) kielbasa with a half cup or so of vegetables -- red potatoes, mushrooms, green beans. We hotted up some fish sticks in the microwave to augment our meager portions: four for each of us, with a 'tartar sauce' concocted out of bottles I found in the fridge -- a smidge of cream horseradish, some buttermilk ranch dressing, some sweet pickle relish, a dollop of asiago-peppercorn dressing.
Feeling my oats, I had a WHOLE vanilla-frosted cookie before bed. Also another glass of water.
*
J. has been calling me out for explaining this or that trait or preference as "faux flaws", that is, things I'm actually proud of but about which I'd feel boastful if I didn't seem to apologize for them. I think she's full of beans, as a rule, but it is a useful thing to watch out for. Maybe it is a faux flaw, this affected report of having been tortured by the feelings accompanying my consumption of an ENTIRE cookie? Or maybe I'm trying to perform indignation, so that my relationship with food eventually changes to align with my false outrage. Maybe a cookie would help me think about this.
A work lunch at Elephant Walk, Brookline -- salad of spring greens, pamplemousse with a drizzle of balsamic, and a goat cheese galette. Entree, a pan-roasted cod fillet over a raft of spinach, with cheddar cheese gnocchi and a cheddar-wine sauce. Also five pieces of the little baguette-ette bread they brought to the table, with butter, and five glasses of water. Five!
At the Clarion meeting at Panera at six, a toffee-chip cookie, recommended by the counter girl as "the best kind'.
At 10:30, when we had arrived back in Lunenburg (following a failed attempt to redeem a gift certificate at Texas Roadhouse in Leominster -- they'd closed early!), dinner was two inches of (I think chicken) kielbasa with a half cup or so of vegetables -- red potatoes, mushrooms, green beans. We hotted up some fish sticks in the microwave to augment our meager portions: four for each of us, with a 'tartar sauce' concocted out of bottles I found in the fridge -- a smidge of cream horseradish, some buttermilk ranch dressing, some sweet pickle relish, a dollop of asiago-peppercorn dressing.
Feeling my oats, I had a WHOLE vanilla-frosted cookie before bed. Also another glass of water.
*
J. has been calling me out for explaining this or that trait or preference as "faux flaws", that is, things I'm actually proud of but about which I'd feel boastful if I didn't seem to apologize for them. I think she's full of beans, as a rule, but it is a useful thing to watch out for. Maybe it is a faux flaw, this affected report of having been tortured by the feelings accompanying my consumption of an ENTIRE cookie? Or maybe I'm trying to perform indignation, so that my relationship with food eventually changes to align with my false outrage. Maybe a cookie would help me think about this.
No comments:
Post a Comment