Man, Sharaun made some yum dinner.
I can still taste the garlic and onions in my mouth. No, I might not make the best conversation partner but they are certain pungent flavors which linger in the mouth that I absolutely dig, regardless of unappealing they may make my breath. A good tobacco is one; pipe, cigar (certainly not the wet-ashes aftertaste that is American cigarettes; making the “why” of my sometimes-vice all the murkier). Garlic is another, as is onion, and somewhat pungent meats, like lamb. A strong cup of coffee; a properly malty beer (be easy with those hops!, meister); chocolate. I know there are more, but Sharaun looked at me all crazy when I asked her to name some.
But anyway, it was a fancy dinner to be sure – and I even downed a nice glass of red wine alongside it (yet another pleasant mouth-memory, this lingering malaise can be damned).
The salad had red bell pepper and little bits of red onion, the meatloaf was her “Greek turkey” thing… made with spinach, feta cheese and pine nuts and topped with a homemade tzatziki sauce. As I enjoyed each bite I kept thinking, “Man, this is some fancy junk! I mean… like restaurant-fancy and whatnot! No really… who else has got a wife making him this kind of fare?!” I think the gourmet spread actually helped me make dents in this cold or sickness or whatever. Such a well-met meal was able to sneak into those chinks and and cracks and pockets, filling them with delicious and displacing fever and weariness. And, with the help the pine nuts and the feta and the red onion I’m sure tonight will be my eve of conquer – the night I kick this sick.
It’s good, too. I need to get back to work something awful, and need to shave my head and face (everything from the neck-up, I suppose you could say) even more. And… if, by some extra God-given grace, I wake feeling 100% – I’d like to spend an hour at the gym before the sawmill. One can want, right?