For the past
week I have been having an endless discussion with myself. Okay, it isn’t endless. It will end next Tuesday. But the discussion is all about what to
“test” first. What food shall I eat next
Tuesday, when I can eat something different?
Milk? Eggs? Cheese?
Tomatoes? Wheat? What will it be? I have been leaning towards milk first. I will be visiting my parents that day, so I
need something easy to prepare. Milk
does that. So does cheese. I could easily drink a glass of milk with each
meal, without straining anything. Cheese
also is easy. Add a little grated cheese
to my turkey for dinner, a little melted cheese to my broccoli at lunch, and
just a nice slice of cheese at breakfast.
Not a problem. However, I will be
cooking in my mother’s kitchen. Maybe
I’d better stick with milk.
At least,
that was the discussion until Monday night.
My husband is a volunteer firefighter.
And the department has training on most Mondays. Except one Monday a month. One of the other volunteers turned it into
social night. Spouses are welcome,
although I think I’m the only one who comes who hasn’t also volunteered with
the department. (There’s something about the department that practically
compels wives to volunteer with their husbands.
I don’t know why. But they all do
it. And they all love it. If I weren’t working out of district all
week, I’d be seriously tempted. But I am
working out of our fire district, and have much too little time at home as it
is! Oh well.)
Anyway, it
was social night last Monday. And I
came, as I do, for the games. I love
board games and have a husband who does not love board games. So I came.
I was good. I brought foods that
were on my diet. I brought my turkey
stew, which was pretty bland, because I forgot to add seasonings. And I brought a can of olives, which I
devoured (and I am still feeling the effects).
But I was not warned. They were
having spaghetti.
Let me say
first, I was good. I reminded myself
that two weeks work should not be thrown away on a whim, an impulse, a
momentary need for tomato-pasta-goodness.
But I felt it. That voice that
calls to me. Okay, okay, I’ll confess!
I love
spaghetti.
It’s
true. I have had a love affair with
spaghetti since I was a kid. My brother
is probably the one most of my family would associate with the food, since the
days when he could only say pascetti.
But I love it every bit as much as he does. Maybe more.
There is
something about pasta when combined with tomatoes that makes a meal
better. Any meal. Add a little meat to the tomatoes and just a
hint of cheese and you are almost there.
Add a little garlic bread and you have found the food of the gods.
That is what
they ate. I ate stew. Pretty bland stew, too. At that point I had forgotten to add
seasonings. In my defense, I had barely
arrived home when I had to grab my food and go.
Once I added seasoning the stew was pretty tasty.
Once I am
eating tomatoes again, I will share my secret spaghetti sauce recipe. It is my husband’s favorite. Until then – I can dream!