Spent the day with my mom. She is having her house on the local Christmas tour. I ferried her up to Athens to procure garland, redbirds, wreaths and a case of Charles Shaw.
While having lunch, I ordered the baguette with my salad.
And then I buttered my mini baguette and . . .
I heard a voice that has haunted me for over three decades.
“Only cowards butter their bread!”
Oui? I was 20ish and having dinner at a professor’s house. I adored her and her husband and took every class each one taught. It didn’t matter I could care less for medieval history, I practically minored in it just to sit in one of their classes.
Well, my classmates and I were seated around an almost Elizabethan table in a darkened room and all eyes were on me.
I who had been called out for buttering her bread.
I take it the French don’t butter bread as much as use it sop up everything else on their plate.
For me, you could throw every chocolate truffle in the Seine — or in the Thames for that matter. Give me warm fresh bread and soft unsweetened cream and I am as a wee clam in tons of salt water.
Still not sure what she meant. “Only cowards butter their bread?”
Believe me I twisted that mental Rubik’s Cube it for almost 30 years. All the while buttering and eating my bread.
I love to be greeted like I’m a celebrity. Some has-been, washed-up child star of a 1970’s pilot that never made it to a network regular lineup.
That’s why I love going to Moe’s. The robust greeting I receive walking through the door.
I love going to Moe’s because I love FOOD.
Especially Tex Mex.
And here in lies something very odd.
I’ve lost my Moe’s mojo.
Let me back up.
* * *
My husband has a mediation company. They do lots of meditations all day long. Since people tend to get hungry in the middle of the day, his company provides lunch. Lots of places cater: Chili’s, Olive Garden, California Pizza Kitchen, Panera, etc.
The other day they ordered lunch but two mediations settled early so he brought home the extra food.
This was a Moe’s day.
Or so you would think.
Black beans on top, grilled onions and peppers on bottom. (Just in case you are curious.)
I’ve eaten Moe’s for the last eight meals.
I just think of a cold, limp, grilled onion and shutter.
It’s not Moe’s – though at this point it is three-day old Moe’s.
It’s just old.
Finally get how the Israelites could complain to the Almighty about manna for 40 straight years.
Thank goodness our emotions aren’t as fickle as our tastebuds.
You’re a three-day old husband.
Not much else to say, but that I’m over Moe’s till at least middle of next week.
How is that possible?
What about you? Can you eat peanut butter sandwiches every day?
While the brilliant writer and blogger Meg Ferrante was lifting the till while Jill’s back was turned.
Meg has a awesome annual blog during Advent. For those of us who love reading, she needs to think year-round or at least expand her blog by adding sacred liturgical favorites such as Lent and Halloween.
I love visiting my daughter for lunch.
I love chatting with her friends, waving at all my beautiful dutiful volunteering friends, and my daughter’s unabashed kiss goodbye.
What’s your canned green bean memory?
I’m going to get cleaned up.
Look forward to reading what made you vomit all over the mean girl. (If you had to vomit on someone, I hope it was the mean girl.)
On the way up to Athens yesterday, my young son wanted to stop for some peaches sold at a road side stand.
I agreed to do it on the return trip.
We went all over that town.
We ate outside at Dairy Queen. Yes. Outside. (You know the one…with no inside seating right next to the Varsity.) I lobbied for the Varsity but he wanted DQ chicken tenders. Honestly, I think his motive was to garner a Blizzard.
It was hot. Later he said, “It feels like I pee-ed in my pants I’m sweating so much.”
We went on a mission and delivered some squash to a friend. It took a little doing to find her office but we perserved with her squash. It was the perfect amount for a casserole. I have yet to make a squash casserole this year.
Very sad for me.
Then we hit Target looking for white clothing — maybe save that for a later blog.
Then we headed home.
We stopped for peaches.
They are on the verge of being soo ripe. You can tell they are going to be awesome.
* 3 to 4 cups pre-sweetened fruit. (in our case, peeled and cut peaches with sugar.)
* 1 cup self-rising flour
* 1 cup milk
* 1 stick margarine. (I use butter. Because I’m bad.)
* 1 cup sugar
Melt margarine (butter) in 2 quart casserole. Pour fruit over margarine (butter). Combine remaining ingredients. Add to dish and stir slightly. Bake at 350 degrees until crust rises to top and is browned.
Recently, my husband had an itsy health scare. One of those events that make you realize changes need to be made.
Perfect for me. Isn’t that what this year has been about? I’m up for changes in the way our family eats. I’ve been tending my garden and buying organic. Even though that makes a bigger dent each week in my tin cup, our family’s health is worth it right?