I just can’t quit you

All I’ve done is think about the foods I won’t be eating starting on Monday.  Which is really no big stretch for me as I spend a great deal of my time thinking about food anyway.  A friend was in Chicago so I asked her to have Chicago-style pizza for me (which I’ve never had by the way).  And to photograph it.  And send it to me.  I have several friends with whom I exchange food porn.  For the uninitiated, that would be photos of food we are eating, or about to eat.  Sometimes I start with a tantalizing text.  Every time I make meatballs I tell my nephew Adam.  This makes him sigh as he is three hours away from aforementioned piece of heaven, otherwise known as my meatballs.  Just last week I taunted Shan with a text about spaghetti sauce.  She’s 45 minutes from my kitchen so her visit was doable.  Yet she still stood me up.  Her loss.  So I followed up with a picture of the sauce.  And me eating the sauce.  Hey, it had to be done.  So, will I be satisfied taunting people with 1500 calories a day?  It boggles the mind.  Because, at this second, I am thinking of naughty things.  Oh, and food.  I’m thinking of a warm piece of Italian bread with butter dripping off of it.  Surely, that can’t be part of the plan.  (It can’t.  And don’t call me Shirley.)   However, the repast I made this evening, baked chicken with olive oil and fresh rosemary and a few garden tomatoes on the side with a basil leaf on each.  That’s steeped in deliciousness.  And it’s not even covered in chocolate.  Maybe it is doable after all.  I still want to cover myself in butter.  But, that’s just me.

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