What I can't have

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!