Foodie follie

You know I love my boys. I dote on them. I make sacrifices for them. I happily and willingly share my space with them, my time with them and my money catering to their youthful tastes.

For instance, I have a whole section of the fridge dedicated to lunch meat, cheese, and soda. I have a cupboard filled with cereal, instant noodles and goldfish crackers. I have ceded part of my freezer space to pizza pops and Haagen Dazs… nope sorry that’s mine … to pizza pops and frozen waffles.


That’s all well and good. These things are not to my taste, but because I am a naturally tolerant person I accept my gouda being placed next to the kraft singles, my granola next to the frosted flakes, and my premium ice cream brand next to frozen breakfast waffles. I believe that these two food views can co-exist peacefully.

This has never been an issue for me, until now. I had, of course, hoped that eventually my tastes would influence the boys. After all imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. What I had not considered was the real timeline on which this imitative effect might impact my real life.

Last weekend, after a hectic Saturday attending a civic speaking event, dinner at the hot new tapas spot downtown and then the opera in the evening, I looked forward to a relaxing stress free Sunday.

I slept late, and at my leisure wandered down stairs. I intended to make myself eggs benedict for brunch …

eggs benny

… and discovered we had no eggs or butter.

Then I thought – that’s ok. I opened the cheese drawer to fetch the aged cheddar for a grilled Panini sandwich…


… and it too was gone.

I moved to the next option, bagel and cream cheese. Nope. No bagel, no cream cheese.


I decided to just make myself an Americano…


… but the can of espresso was empty.

At this point I was quite flustered. I decided that before I further explored my options I needed to calm down, so I opened the fridge fully intending to retrieve a craft ale to sooth my nerves.

Frosty glass of red beer isolated on a white background. File contains a path to cut.

There wasn’t a can or bottle left in the fridge, although I did note there were several in the recycle bin.

So, what I did I get on my relaxing Sunday morning? I had what was left in the cupboard and fridge.

I had a rootbeer and ramen noodles.


And NO, you cannot see a photo of that.




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