Qdoba for lunch was more than enough

Skipped breakfast, so around one o'clock I made a peanut-butter-and-reduced-sugar-raspberry-jelly sandwich, on wheat bread.

J. eventually arrived at campus, and we went to Qdoba in Kenmore Square for lunch. I had a poblano pesto chicken burrito, and I asked for only a light helping of cheese and sour cream. We also split a chocolate chip cookie, she and I, and, on impulse, a cheese quesadilla. I had a bite of her taco salad, and did not like it much; no tortilla for architectural interest, and an overwhelming salsa. Diet cola with lime.

During the workday, the department director came into the office with a free sample of some new Starbucks concoction -- about two ounces of thick coffee drink over ice, with a drizzle of chocolate or caramel over some whipped cream. It was gone in an instant.

I also drank water during the day. After work, for the train ride home, I got a diet Mountain Dew, and a Nutrageous bar to share with J.

The Qdoba was hearty enough, so I didn't feel any need for dinner. At home, at around eleven, J. whipped up two batches of microwave mini-bags of popcorn, 100 calories each. We shared these in bed, and went to sleep.

Sunday: brunch, coffee shop, late-night dinner

Brunch with the Dees at T. W. Food, which Jenna thought we should go to after seeing it reviewed favorably in that digest of gustatory quality, the Metro, Boston edition. I understand the restaurant has gotten press elsewhere, but really, once you're in the Number One Daily Free Paper in Boston, the light of attention from other outlets is simply wan, dimmer.

After sampling from the bread platter -- a chocolate-pecan scone, a muffin of some bran-apple variety I think, and two pieces of oaty bread, each with butter, and some with cranberry compote -- I ordered the feuillantine of leeks with slow-poached eggs and black trumpet mushroom cream. My "Crimson Haiku" cocktail was sake with sharp ginger beer and hibiscus syrup. I also had a bite of J.'s goat cheese omelette, and complained that I do not have a nice pan for making nice omelettes.

After brunch I stopped by Starbuck's for an hour of writing, or rather, of staring out the window. There I had a mocha frappuchino and a slide of reduced-fat banana chocolate chip coffee cake. Nothing at the movies; I'm trying to stick by my sense that concessions shorten one's lifespan and greasen one's fingers. Both unacceptable consequences.

Dinner at home, round about midnight, was a kind of chicken francaise. I boned and skinned thighs, and cut the meat into two-bites-and-it's-gone-sized chunks. After a dunk in flour, they went into a dip of whole eggs beaten when tangy mustard. Cooked on the stovetop in butter, seasoned with salt, pepper, lemon juice, and dried basil, and then after being flipped, finished with two minutes of poaching in a splash of blush wine. The batter worked excellently -- eggy, rich, buttery, and holding its form. I was just really happy with it, after a long day of doing laundry and cleaning cat mess. Sides were roasted potatoes -- olive oil, salt and pepper -- and sauteed kale (boiled for ten minutes, then cooked quickly with a little olive oil and garlic powder). Washed it all down with Keurig iced tea, our new innovation: four cups of warm tea in the pitcher with Splenda, lemon juice (sad, that we used the fake kind in the plastic squeeze, when I HAD lemon in the pantry), and ice. We went with green tea, peppermint tea, and two doses of English breakfast. Refreshing.

Before the meal, we made quesadillas for starveling J: corn tortillas, in oleo on the stovetop, with diced tomato, cumin, olive oil, and shredded cheddar.