This meal answers that important, incessant, weekday question.
After braving our respective routes — Caitlin, the Red Line, I, the Beltway — we arrive home around 7:00 p.m., tired from the day’s activities. After a quick moment of reprieve, we often head down to the apartment gym to get some much-needed exercise.
Once we’re back upstairs, the question rears its head. The question that creeps into our minds every night, demanding an immediate answer. The question is bandied about …
In preparing for my move, I worked on paring down what I needed and what I did not. I went through my closet to determine what clothes I was wearing and what clothes I was not. I looked around my bathroom, and decided what items had outlived their utility. And naturally, I went around my kitchen, searching for redundancies, coordinating with Caitlin to ensure that we did not arrive with two or three of every useful kitchen device.
Beyond these steps, I also worked to use up my food. There was no need to stack my car with bags of flour and sugar. By the same token, there was no sense in throwing away perfectly good butter or eggs. The last few weeks saw a veritable flood of baking and cooking.
Among these items, …
These days there are legions of bloggers, forming a veritable army of individuals tapping dutifully on their keyboards from all around the world. And for those who aren’t blogging, there are still brigades of those tweeting and providing regular status updates on facebook. All of which can seem very much like overkill.
But maybe it isn’t.
I’ve been listening to …
The other day, I noticed that there were three unopened boxes of elbow macaroni, sitting peacefully in my cabinet. And I know what happened. Every trip to the Kroger leads me through the pasta section. And I think, “Hmmm. I wonder if I have any macaroni at home?” Better safe than sorry, I pick up a box and add it to the cart.
Tired of pushing those boxes out of the way…
Veggie burgers have a come a long way.
I can remember going to a BBQ and watching the hamburgers and hot dogs come off the grill. That moment where the football game ends and the conversations stop, and people line up to grab their meal, before shuffling over to the condiment bar. And then, like some back-alley, black-market transaction, someone casts their eyes over the party, slips a furtive hand into their purse, and hands the chef a frozen pattie from plastic baggie. The veggie burger.
But no more. …