Hi Fay,
How is it going? I’m sending you an e-mail early this week because this Saturday I’m off on a “Boys’ Night Out”. A “Boys’ Night Out” is basically me, my brothers-in-law and Maurice, lour father-in-law, out for a meal and a few beers. We usually discuss the works of Charles Baudelaire, James Weldon Johnson, Virginia Woolf or Geoffrey Chaucer. If things are a little slow we fall back on the works of Shakespeare or Michael Bay. Usually it’s Michael Bay because we really enjoyed Transformers: Dark Side of the Moon, Bad Boys II and Armageddon.
I see from your blog you’ve been meal planning (if this were a sitcom I’d turn to the camera and wink) and that it’ll take another week to get the cooking oomph back. Do you want to meal plan for me? Well do you punk?
Of my two brothers-in-law and one-father-in-law all of them came out to New Zealand as vegetarians. Only one of them still remains a vegetarian because New Zealand doesn’t do all the meat substitutes that the civilised world does, New Zealand does meat. Juliette ordered macaroni cheese the other day and it came with bacon in it. You order ice cream here and it’s going to have bacon sprinkles on it.
On our property when we came to view it they had a “beefy” out the back. A “beefy” is a live cow kept specifically so you can look after it, feed it and then when Christmas is near, send out for the home kill butcher to dispatch and carve that cow up on your patio table like it’s cheese cake. That’s hard core meat eating and its normal here. So when I have to meal plan for Juliette and the kids (all vegetarian) it can become a little bit difficult. Especially as Eva has entered the fussy eating stage.
I always thought “whining like a little girl” was some sort of slightly misogynistic slur but it turns out that yes, a little girls’ whine has its own special place as a punishment in one of the seven circles of hell. Eva has weaponised her whining.
We have UN inspectors around every day to check on Eva’s whining in case she exports it to Iran. Eva’s whining cuts glass. The top ten percent of Eva’s whining can only be heard by dogs. When Eva starts whining Mother Theresa’s ghost comes down from heaven and says “cut that sh*t out, it’s f*cking annoying me”. If there’s a zombie apocalypse we’re setting Eva out the front to whine about the colour of the sky not being right and the zombies will give this place a berth so wide we can set up the human civilisation rebirth.
She’s a fussy eater and she whines about. She whines about food she doesn’t like, she whines about food she does like but isn’t the right colour, she whines about her portions being too big, she whines about her portions being too small, she whines about food being too hot, then whines about it being too cold. Meanwhile Sam, being a toddler of only one and a half, sits to the left of her silently shovelling food in his mouth like he’s the Ying to her Yang.
So here’s my meal plan for the week;
Monday : Full roast dinner with Quorn roast substitute
Tuesday : Vegetable soup with garlic bread
Wednesday : The Dashed Dreams of a Hopeful Romantic on a Bed of Lettuce
Thursday : Unicorn tears and Pegasus breath in a broth of Fresh Ideas
Friday : Fish and Chips
Saturday : Griffin eggs scrambled on toast.
Sunday : Sweet and sour Life, drizzled with Experience vinaigrette.
“Why then, can one desire too much of a good thing?” says William Shakespeare in As You Like It.
Meal planning sucks donkey dick.
Love,
Mark xxx
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See what I mean!??Mind you I still
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