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.