I awoke from a long, sound, delicious sleep this morning because my son was standing at the foot of the stairs hollering up at me.
“What?” I replied cleverly.
“I said – what can’t you eat now?”
“I can eat anything…” (Why burden my son with the “no grains, less dairy, never any sugar” plan?)
“Okay. So, sausage and chicken in orzo, or prosciutto and mozzarella with pesto?”
“Which would you prefer?”
“Is there bread with the prosciutto?”
“Yeah – it’s a sandwich. From ‘Agents of Shield.’”
It can take time to unpack a statement like that and I wasn’t at my best, so I thought of all that illegal bread with the bedhead version of gastronomic lust and picked the sandwich without hesitation. So much for the “no grains” plan.
And off he went to the store to buy what he needed, in his car with his credit card, to assuage his burning desire for non-college-cafeteria food. Then he taught me how to sauté (which he says means “jump”) pine nuts in the frying pan to toast them (my boy!) and made his own pesto.
The bread was heaven and the sandwich was AMAZING. “It’s what Simmons made for Fitz. Remember? And he had to dump it in the river so the dogs wouldn’t smell it?”
I got that the names were characters from “Agents of Shield” – Rusty apparently follows a guy on You Tube who makes food from TV shows (we’ve benefitted from a Ron Swanson steak in the past) – but didn’t remember the episode. Nevertheless – “How sad he must have been to throw this sandwich away.”
We munched contentedly.
My kitchen is a certified disaster area and the chef has gone upstairs to take a long, soaking bath. I don’t regret a single bite of that bread. All is right with the world.
I thought you’d like to know, since you so kindly expressed concern when I came to what I hope was the nadir of my wet blanket period yesterday!