One of the (many) problems of coming back from vacation, aside from, well, work, cold weather, the mess that is my garden, and how fat I am is that my day to day eating is so not interesting. The rich panoply of blog fodder has essentially dried up. One minute I’m in palaces in the midst of relics of utmost importance, cruising along on my Bird scooter, eating dry chocolate cake in sumptuous surroundings, or being slapped down in German by a sales clerk and then the next minute I’m sitting in front of the TV in the dark watching reruns of Full House eating an undressed chicken breast with spinach.
It’s like going from The Hills are Alive to Farmer in the freaking Dell. I have relatively little to write about.
The cheese stands alone.