She cooked last night. I have NO idea when Wheelie Boy will enjoy the Tarragon Chicken, the fire-roasted vegetables, the pasta with pesto, or the mushroom whatever that dish is (his micro wave will let him know).
By the time I was ravenous the kitchen was still occupied.
The whole apartment smelled utterly delicious.
The Mexican place was closed.
I am not the kind of person who lets hunger dominate his life. Hah! Food means nothing to me! At my age I've tasted it all before. Far, I say far, be it from me to grouchily sit in front of my computer endlessly playing food videos. Ich habe keine existenzangst.
Did I already mention that I have superhuman tolerance, and am saintly and calm? At all times?
NEW YORKSKIE TAKSIST
This song has NO connection to the hunger, or the realization that eating alone is altogether miserable and unappealing.
Nor do I have any clue what the lyrics mean.
The song is a Russian criminal-type chanson, and sounds evocative of struggle and frustration. Plus it has a catchy beat.
Tarragon Chicken, fire-roasted vegetables, pasta with pesto.
And a mushroom whatever that was.
I have never had Tarragon Chicken.
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