Monthly Archives: February 2011

Salami and Eggs

On the telephone yesterday evening.

Beast:  How many eggs are too many for one person to eat in one day?

Foodie (whispering): I don’t know.  Maybe six.  No, four.

Beast:  Why are you whispering?

Foodie: Because I’m at work.

Beast:  What time are you coming home?

Foodie:  In about an hour.

Beast:  Can you pick up some bread?

Foodie:  What for?

Beast:  Because I’m making dinner and we’re having Jewish salami and eggs.

Foodie:  Why did you ask how many eggs are too much to eat in one day?

Beast:  Because I had Jewish salami and eggs for lunch.

Foodie:  What’s Jewish salami?

Beast:  It’s amazing that’s what it is.  It’s called Chicago 58 and it’s kosher.

The toilet flushes.

Foodie:  What was that?

Beast:  I just flushed the toilet.

Foodie: You just went to the bathroom while talking on the phone with me?

Beast: Yes.

Foodie: I think our relationship has just entered a new phase.

Beast:  A good or a bad phase?

Foodie: I haven’t decided yet.

When I got home about an hour later I heard the sound of a spaz beating drums with his bare hands coming from the upstairs.  I walked into the living room which had a pile of newspapers shoved under the coffee table, a baritone saxophone propped upright beside the fireplace and a some sort of metal drum pedal apparatus resting in the middle of the carpet.

Foodie (yelling to the upstairs): I’m going for a walk to pick up the next Deadwood DVD from the video place.

Beast: Okay. (Pause) Want me to come with you?

Foodie:  No.  It sounds like you’re in the middle of something quite interesting.  And this way, you’ll have time to finish tidying up down here.

Beast: Silence.

Before I left, I walked into the dining room to put down my book bag and looked around. I wondered how I had been in here a hundred times before and hadn’t noticed the piles of mess that I now saw everywhere. I also wondered why the mess was bothering me so much.

Then I walked to the video store looking down at my boots the whole way and talking myself out of losing my shit over a few piles of junk.  Then I thought, you are talking to yourself and dragging your feet and acting kind of crazy.  Just stop, would you?

When I got home, the living room had been tidied.  I breathed a sigh of relief because now I wouldn’t turn crazy.  Then I went upstairs where I found the Beast listening to funny-sounding music in the bedroom and reading a copy of something I wrote to enter in a short story contest.

Foodie:  What do you think?

Beast:  It’s good, but you didn’t provide enough description.

Foodie:  Yes I did–what about the part where I say, The sea looked like the Mediterranean.

Beast:  Yeah, that’s got to go.  And I meant descriptions about people: you don’t really describe the characters.

Foodie:  You’re right.  Thank you.  Thank you so much for reading it.

Beast: It was hurtful too.

Foodie:  What do you mean?

Beast:  The story is hurtful. It hurt me to read it.

Foodie:  Oh god, no!  But it’s fiction! (Pause)  And that was a long time ago.

Beast:  You’re a hurtful person!

Foodie:  Are you joking or being serious?

Beast:  Why do you ask?

Foodie:  Because you’re listening to funny-sounding music and–

Beast: It’s Portugese folk music!

Foodie: And you said, “you’re a hurtful person,” in a whiny retarded voice and you’re flailing your arms up and down like a girl.

Beast:  I’m kind of joking.  Did you see that I tidied the living room?

Foodie:  Thank you so much for doing that. You’re so thoughtful.

Beast: AND I’m making dinner tonight.

Foodie:  I know, I can’t believe it.  I’m so excited to eat this salami and egg thing.

Beast:  You’re going to love it!

And I did love it.  Actually, the Beast’s salami and eggs has been the best dinner we’ve eaten all week.  He even tidied up after.

Foodie:  ***

Beast: ***

 

Two Soups: Hilarious!

Don’t underestimate the restorative powers of a good dose of vitamin D.  After a week under the sun in Cuba I’ve been laughing and shimmying around the house non-stop for three days.  Thoughts and situations that used to make me anxious, like, What am I doing with my life? Why are there coffee grinds all over the kitchen counter?  What if I don’t want to eat breakfast or drink eight glasses of water a day? are now as fleeting as a sand castle assembled on the shore at high tide.

The day after getting back I was eager to get cooking, figuratively in my creative life, and literally in the kitchen.  I decided to make two soups: a minestrone, which turned out wonderfully,

and a white bean soup with swiss chard that my friend Giovanna makes.  It may be the best soup ever.  Here’s the thing though: I’ve asked Gio for the recipe at least a dozen times and she always tells me verbally and it’s in one ear and out the other.  I couldn’t bring myself to ask her how to make it again–she’s got far more important things to do, including caring for her little baby boy.  So I decided to improvise but then I couldn’t remember if Gio adds potatoes or not so I sent her one quick text and she confirmed in the positive that she did.  Then I just had to guess how many potatoes, and how much of everything else.

If Gio has taught me one thing, it’s to really get some colour out of your soffritto, or mirepoix, or your onions, carrots and celery.  That’s where plenty of flavour can be achieved.  For the bean soup, I was pretty sure she left out carrots, and that she browned up onions, celery and the potatoes in olive oil to start, seasoning them with salt and pepper along the way.

Then I added about two cups of dried white kidney beans, plenty of water, two fresh bay leaves and the last nugget of a parmigiano reggiano rind that I had left in the house.

I let this cook for about three hours at a low simmer.  When the beans were done I mixed the soup with my hand blender and then added washed and roughly chopped swiss chard, which cooked down in a minute or two.

As soon as the Beast got home from work, I started heating up a baguette and got some butter out of the fridge.

Beast:  What smells so good?

Foodie:  Two soups, that’s what!  We’ll have the minestrone tonight and then the white bean one tomorrow.

Beast:  With sausage.  Will have the white bean one tomorrow with sausage, right?

Foodie:  Sure, I’ll make you some sausages tomorrow.  Would you like chocolate cake tonight?

Beast:  How do you mean?

Foodie:  Well, remember when I bought all those groceries before I abandoned you and I got an instant chocolate cake mix with icing?  Do you want me to make that for you? Because I’ll make it right now if you want me to.  It’ll be ready for after dinner practically.  Do you want me to?

Beast:  Would you like chocolate cake?

Foodie:  Oh god no, but if you want, I’ll make it for you.

Beast:  Do you just need to hear me say that I want it?

Foodie:  Yes.

Beast:  Please make instant chocolate cake.

Foodie:  Fine, I’ll make it.

So I got out my favourite cake tins, purchased from a Value Village years ago, and prepared the instant cake mix for baking in about 30 seconds.  Then we ladled out our bowls of soup and headed to the living room in order to start watching the series Deadwood again.

Foodie:  Would it be weird if I started dressing like Calamity Jane?  Or a cross between Jane and the character Mattie from True Grit?

Beast:  No.  Would it be weird if I started wearing shinier clothes, like Ornette Coleman did, and little hats, like Thelonius Monk?

Foodie: (Giggling)

Beast:  What’s so funny?

Foodie:  Oh something Erinn just texted me.  She’s hiliarious.

Beast:  What did she say?

Foodie: It’s an inside joke.

Beast: (Silence)

Foodie: Did I tell you about how we discovered that we share so many similarities, like we both like tickling our hands.  And this one time–I think we were playing cards poolside and sipping on mojitos–I mentioned something about how I’d rather have somebody tickle my entire body than have a body massage and that turned into this joke about The Body Tickle and how we just wanted a body tickle after our hard days of suntanning and swimming and drinking.  It was so funny.

Beast: (Eyes lighting up)  Did you guys give each other body tickles?

Foodie:  No, but we made up this other thing and it was so funny.  You see all the European ladies wore these bikini bottoms that went right up the butt.

Beast:  Go on.

Foodie:  I think they were mostly Argentinian women, or maybe Italian women, but Erinn said something like, “Oh here comes the butt brigade” when a group of them were passing by our umbrella and I thought she said, “Oh here come the butt blades” and it was the funniest thing in the world to us!  Think about it!  BUTT BLADES!

Beast:  How many affairs did you have?

Foodie:  Zero.  The Cuban men loved Erinn though!  Her blond hair and blue eyes really set her apart from the Europeans. I was like Joan Cusack in every single movie she’s ever starred in, and ended up doing a lot of consoling. They’d say to me, “Your seester–” and I’d say, “She’s not my sister,” and they’d say, “Your friend, she is so bee-u-tee-ful. I am in love,”  And I’d be all like, “Tell me about it buddy.  Don’t I know it.” But nobody was really creepy–just this one guy from Ontario.  We called him “Creep”.  We had nicknames for everybody.  There was James Franco and Mario Lopez and–

Beast:  Like the actors?

Foodie:  Ohmygod it was so funny!  I thought Jose was more of a Daniel Craig and Erinn was all like, “As if!  He’s definitely a Michael Rapaport.”  Whatevs man.  It was hilarious.

Beast:  (Silence).

Foodie:  But our favourite was Alain.

Beast:  What was Alain’s nickname?

Foodie:  We had a real hard time deciding because he was about five feet tall and had one eye that was a touch wonky.  But oh Alain was just the best. Our wine glasses were never empty.

Beast:  How much wine did you drink?

Foodie:  Well, we only took wine with our meals.  We had pina coladas before lunch, white wine with lunch, more pina coladas or daiquiris after lunch, then mojitos before dinner, white wine with dinner and then an Italian digestive after dinner, or more mojitos.  Or whiskey.

Beast: And the food wasn’t that bad?

Foodie:  It was great! Our favourite meal of the day was lunch time.

We’d order grilled fish–I think it was mackerel–and pile up mounds of salad, vegetables and rice, and the occasional French fry when they were available.  It was delicious.  But the view was even better.

Beast: What are you laughing at now?

Foodie:  Oh just another text from Erinn.

Beast:  What did she say?

Foodie:  She asked me if I think Jon Bon Jovi is cute or not.

Beast:  Do you?

Foodie:  I don’t know.

Beast:  Tell her that I think he’s fucking gorgeous.

The chocolate cake turned out slightly lop-sided on account of our oven which tilts forward.

But oh lordy was it good.

The next night we enjoyed the white bean with swiss chard soup as soon as the Beast got home from work.

Beast:  This is incredible.  It’s one of the best soups you’ve ever made.

Foodie:  You think?  It it is pretty good, isn’t it.  I didn’t achieve the depth that Gio does with hers but I’m still pleased.  The parmigiano bits on top really help.

Beast:  The sausage really helps.

(After dinner, on the couch, watching Deadwood.)

Beast: What are you laughing at now?

Foodie:  Oh just another text from Erinn.

Beast:  What did she say?

Foodie:  Inside joke.

Beast: (Pause) Let me ask you a question: how many saxophones does Erinn play?

Foodie:  I don’t know, but she has the voice of an angel.

Beast:  This chocolate cake is so good it makes me wonder why anybody would go to the trouble of making one from scratch.

Foodie:  It really is delicious.  But what about that Nigella Guinness chocolate cake I make?  That’s pretty amazing.

Beast:  It’s good, but this is better.

Foodie:  I’m going to text Erinn and see what she thinks.

Minestrone soup:  Foodie  **    Beast **1/2

White Bean soup: Foodie  **1/2   Beast ***

Slow Cooker Beef Blahs and the Beast Makes Two Dinners

My mom doesn’t call me much, not because she doesn’t love me but because she always thinks she’s going to be interrupting me.  The first thing she does when we’re on the phone together is apologize for calling and the first thing I do is squeal with delight because I’m talking to my mom.  It’s an odd song and dance–but it works for us.  Why don’t I simply call her more often?  I have an irrational fear of telephones, which has burdened many a friendship.  My mom understands this almost too well:  what I mean is, sometimes I’d wish she’d yell at me and say, “Call your mother more you little asshole!”

Last week my mom called me twice in one day, surely a record–and I couldn’t have been happier.  The second call came during a commercial break during The Super Bowl. She wanted to fill me in on the party she and Russ were having.

Mom: Oh you should just see us!  We’ve got wings and carrot sticks with dip and green peppers too–oh wait, you don’t like green peppers.

Foodie:  I’m coming around on them more and more though.

Mom: And we’re curled up and the fire is going.

Foodie:  You must be so hot!  I’m imagining you in a t-shirt.

Mom: Of course, and my tordidoors.

Tordidoors are what my mom calls her home-time pants.  They’re not really jogging pants or pajama bottoms–they’re more of a legging, but they’re not at all tight or constrictive.  They’re black and I think she’s gets them from Walmart because Walmart is the only place that sells any sort of pant with an 18 inch inseam.  I don’t know why she calls them tordidoors but the name has stuck.  When the Beast and I visit her, sometimes she jokes about getting the Beast to wear a pair around the house, so he’ll be more comfortable.  I hope that someday this actually happens.

Foodie: Who are you cheering for?

Mom: Oh Pittsburg of course.

Foodie:  What are they, the Pirates or something?

Mom:  No!  They’re the (pauses and starts talking to Russ)–Russ!  Do you know what she just said? She asked if they were the Pirates!  (Back to the phone)  No sweetie, they’re the Pittsburg Steelers. Oh they just showed a picture of “Carmen Diaz” with her sports player boyfriend.

Foodie:  Derek Jeter?

Mom: How do you know his name and not the name of the team who’s playing in the Super Bowl?

Foodie: Because I love celebrity gossip, that’s why.  He also dated Kate Hudson and–

Mom (with great pride):  That’s right sweetie!  And Rene Zell, Zellwer, Zergert…

Foodie: Rene Zellwegger.

Mom:  Yes, her.  Well, I should let you get back to work.

Foodie:  I’m nearly done thank goodness.

Mom:  Oh I wish I could finish it for you.  You know, I just watched an old movie today on Turner Classic Movies with, oh, what’s his name.  Anyway, he’s a reporter and an angel comes to finish his column.

Foodie: Jimmy Stewart?

Mom:  Yes! I wish I could do that for you right now.

Foodie:  Oh god, me too.

At least I’d made beef bourguignon earlier in the day so Sunday night dinner would be a no brainer.  I got the recipe from this month’s Chatelaine in a food feature on slow-cookers.  It was dead simple to make.

You just had to dump all the ingredients into a slow cooker and then turn it on.  And just before the Beast got home I finished my work and dinner was ready so I tried on a couple of things I purchased at a recent literary fundraiser.

Beast:  What the fuck do you have on?!

Foodie:  What, this?  Oh these are pajamas that I bought at a fundraiser last night.

Beast:  They are….something else.  No, I’m just going to say it:  those are hideous.

Foodie:  The pattern was designed by an artist you know.  They are  limited edition Tori Burch pajamas. Did you see my shoes?

Beast:  Yes I see your shoes–wait a second!  Are those real?

Foodie:  They most certainly are.

I found myself (actually, my friend Amy found them and let me buy them even though they were her size too) a pair of black Christian Louboutin four inch heels.  I think they’re from the 80s because they’re awfully pointy and there’s no platform which makes them nearly impossible to stand in, let alone walk in.  I figure they’re practical for around the house though.

We plated our slow cooker dinner and gathered ’round the electric glow of the television.

Foodie:  This tastes like nothing!

Beast:  I didn’t want to say anything but you’re right. And the carrots are still hard and the beef isn’t falling apart.

Foodie:  It said to cook it for eight hours on slow.  I must have cooked it close to nine hours.  I don’t get it.  Plus, there are some really flavourful ingredients in here and you can’t taste one of them!

Beast:  This is bullshit.  I’m so sorry it didn’t turn out.  I’ll tell you what: I’ll be in charge of dinner tomorrow night because I know you’ve got so much to do before you leave me by myself and go on vacation to have affairs in Cuba.

Foodie:  Are you serious?  That would be really great.  I’d appreciate it so much.

Beast:  Consider it done.

We actually finished the left-over beef bourguignon the next night–which was much improved after being slowly cooked for a few more hours but still didn’t come close to a proper beef bourguignon.  And the next night, I got a call from the Beast while I was on the street car headed home at about eight in the evening.

Beast:  How about grilled cheeses and soup for dinner?

Foodie:  Sounds perfect!

Beast:  What kind of soup do you want?

Foodie:  I think there’s a can of Campbell’s bean with bacon in the cupboard.

Beast:  YES!

Foodie:  Hey, here’s a thought: would you consider making me a grilled cheese using the Epi loaf of multi-grain bread and some old cheddar?

Beast:  (Long pause)  O K A Y.

I came home to this:

The first plate is mine: the Beast made me the gourmet grilled cheese I requested, plus a classic one made with white Wonder bread and a Kraft cheese slice.  The second plate belongs to the Beast:  he fashioned some broiled wieners wrapped in Kraft cheese slices and white Wonder bread, secured them with tooth-picks and then fried them in butter.

I’ve never been more proud and disgusted all at the same time, until the next night when the Beast brought home a very exotic dinner:

He picked up some specialties from a Vietnamese sandwich shop on College at Ossington.  The sandwiches cost $2.50 each. He bought four: three for him and one for me. The potato chips, a Western compliment to the Asian party mix and banana rice cakes, were a nice touch.  The entire dinner, which should have fed a family of four, cost only $17.

I’m always moaning and groaning about having to make all the dinner decisions night after night. Turns out the Beast is more than capable of planning healthy and balanced meals.  (Healthy and balanced if you were living  in a parallel universe where Macaulay Culkin circa Home Alone did the cooking.)

Slow cooker beef bourguignon:  Foodie  *1/2     Beast *

Wiener wraps and canned soup: Foodie **    Beast ****

Exotic Vietnamese dinner: Foodie *    Beast ****

Hot Dogs, Frozen Fries and a Special Appetizer

Because of Toronto’s recent winter storm, the Beast got a snow day and my indoor soccer game got canceled, which meant I was coming home for dinner.  It also meant that while I was at work, the Beast called me a few times.

On the telephone.

Beast:  What are you doing?

Foodie:  Working.

Beast:  Can you believe I’m listening to Bach while reading a monograph on Vincent Van Gogh and all I can think about are hot dogs and frozen French fries?

Foodie:  My soccer game is canceled because of the weather so–

Beast:  You guys play outdoors?

Foodie (sighing): No.  So I’ll be home for dinner.

Beast:  Perfect! I’ll pick up the hot dogs and fries!

Foodie:  We can’t really have that for dinner.

Beast:  Oh yes we can.

Foodie:  No we can’t.  Seriously.  I’m working on a story about the Freshman 15 and the thought of eating all that crap makes me nauseous.

Beast:  How do you make garlic mayonnaise?

Foodie:  I don’t know–add some garlic to some mayonnaise.  We’ve got garlic powder too you know.  Are you listening to me?  I can’t eat that stuff.  I’ve gained two pounds just thinking about it.

Beast:  Fine.  But don’t you dare ever say I’m not a dinner idea contributor again!  And you know what?  If you gained 15 pounds you couldn’t call it the Freshman 15!  You’d have to call it, “I’m Just a Fat Fuck 15″!  Just take the stairs instead of elevators or escalators.  There.  Your story is done.  What time are you coming home again?

Foodie:  You’re right.  Let’s have hot dogs.  I’ll be home around 7.

When I got there, I found the Beast setting up his equipment and ingredients for dinner.

Foodie:  Did you just grind some pepper onto those frozen fries?

Beast:  Yes.

Foodie:  Why not add the pepper on after the fries are cooked?

Beast:  It’s better this way. Do you like Montreal-style hot dogs?

Foodie:  What are those?

Beast:  You steam them and add ketchup and mustard and finely chopped fresh onion.

Foodie:  Sure.

Beast:  Would you like three or four hot dogs?

Foodie:  I’ll take two.

Beast:  Oh, I almost forgot!  I got us a special appetizer.

Foodie:  So we’re having French fries AND potato chips tonight?

Beast:  It’s more like, “potatoes two ways”.  Oh hey, I was going to comment on your blog today.

Foodie:  Oh yeah?  What stopped you?

Beast:  I don’t want to have anything to do with it.  But I was going to say, “I THOUGHT THIS WAS A FOOD BLOG, NOT A CLEANING BLOG.”  All you do is talk about cleaning.

Foodie:  It’s a valid point and I’ll take it to heart.

Foodie: I wonder what Gordon Ramsay would have to say about you using his Royal Doulton cookware to steam hot dogs and buns.

Beast:  They’re almost ready.  Do you want to dress your own?

Foodie:  Yes please.

I stood back as the Beast plated his four dogs. With our arms filled and glasses full, we made our way to the living room/dining room.

After dinner, on the couch.

Beast: Why is it that finely chopped cooking onions taste so good?

Foodie:  I don’t know but those were really good hot dogs.  The fries were terrible, don’t you think?

Beast:  They don’t taste as good as I remember.

Foodie: I think it’s because they took out all the bad stuff, like the trans fats–all the good stuff that give frozen fries flavour.  (Pause)  Do you feel funny?  I feel funny in the head and in my stomach.

Beast: Like you’re going to be sick?

Foodie:  No, I just feel weird everywhere.  Like there’s evil coursing threw my veins.

Beast:  I feel fine, great actually.

I took a fat-fuck bullet for the team eating the Beast’s hot dog dinner.   But it was worth it.

Foodie: *

Beast: **1/2

Sass and Enchiladas

The Beast has been full of sass these days. In fact, he’s been sassing me all week in really passive aggressive ways, like leaving his music room like this for days on end.


I don’t care how messy his music room gets because I don’t go in there anymore. But now he’s also moved into the dining room, which is where I’ve set up shop as of late to do my work because for some reason, it’s warmer in there than any other room in the house.


He’s doing some sort of guitar project that involves stripping metal frets and using my iron as a soldering device.

I know why he’s behaving so poorly: he’s lashing out because I’ve booked a trip to Cuba with my friend Erinn. To be clear, the Beast isn’t mad that he’s not going to Cuba–he’s mad that he’ll be left home alone to fend for himself. As a result, he’s acting up.

Foodie (on the phone with the Beast who’s at work): Guess what I’m making for dinner tonight? I’ll tell you: enchiladas!

Beast: Wow. How do you know how to make those?

Foodie: I don’t! I’m just going to make it up as I go.

Beast: Oh I see. (Pause) Great.

Foodie: Oh hey, listen: you know all the clothes that you always leave on the rocking chair every week and then I play a guessing game of what’s dirty and what’s not and then hang up all the clean stuff? Well I’m not doing that anymore. You know Sunday is the day I do laundry so anything that’s dirty on that chair right now is not getting washed. That rocking chair is not a laundry hamper. The laundry hamper is two feet away from the rocking chair and your closet is right behind the chair.


Beast: You know what I think? I think you should take a vacation ALONE. WITHOUT ME.

Foodie: I am taking a vacation without you.

Beast: I KNOW! You’re going to be so sorry when you get back.

Foodie: What’s that supposed to mean?

Beast: You’ll see.

Whatever. I had enchiladas to make! First, I decided to whip up some salsa using these seven simple ingredients.


I haven’t bought salsa since I tried Nick’s Dad’s homemade stuff years ago. (And that’s Nick Martin, not Nick Edwards. The Beast has a thing for Nicks.) You just dump a can of plum tomatoes, along with the juice, into a food processor. Add a jalapeno pepper (take the seeds out if you desire just some zing rather than heat), a coursely chopped small red onion, a few garlic cloves, a heaping teaspoon of salt, a handful of cilantro and the juice of one lime. Voila! It’s a real crowd pleaser.

Moving on, I browned some ground beef with some chili, cayenne and garlic powder. I opened up a can of black beans, I opened up another can of tomatoes and made tomato sauce by wizzing the tomatoes up with some garlic, salt and a pinch of sugar. I chopped up a green onion, and I grated some old cheddar. Then I put all this stuff into a tortilla shell.


I did this ten more times and filled up a baking dish with my enchiladas.


Finally, I baked them right before the Beast got home from work.


And then I waited for Mr. Sass Attack to get home.

Beast: It smells great in here!

Foodie: I’m pretty excited about the dish I invented. I think they’re going to be great.

Beast: Are you blogging about this. (The word blogging said with mockery and disdain.)

Foodie: I don’t know–I might.

Beast: You know what I’m going to do when you abandon me? I’m going to high jack your blog and make it into Foodieandthebeast.thetruth.wordpress.org. I’m sick of your lies!

Foodie: Actually, that would be an incredible idea! You could guest blog while I’m on a white sand beach and frolicking in a crystal blue sea. You could blog about what you eat every night while I’m away.

Beast: NO! Because I won’t be eating. I’m going to be so sick by the time you get back. You’ll be so sorry you left. And you’ll be sorry that you’re not supportive of my music and you’ll be sorry that you’re always telling me to clean up everything. NEWSFLASH: GENIUSES ARE MESSY. Do you think Mozart had to clean up his shit every night? And Beethoven? Bach? Walt Whitman? Homer?

Foodie: Are you done?

Beast: I’m going to be dead.

Foodie: Excuse me?

(The Beast makes a hand gesture of a noose being around his neck.)

Foodie: Okay, too far.

Beast: While you’re having affairs and smoking cigars, I’ll be DEAD! Then you’ll be sorry.

Foodie: (laughing) YOU’RE BEING ABSURD! Who would I have an affair with in Cuba?

Beast: You tell me.

(Silence.)

Beast: These look pretty good. Is there meat in there?

Foodie: Yes, there’s meat. I almost made them without any but I knew you’d prefer them with meat.

Beast: Thanks.

We filled our plates and ate our dinner.


The next morning, when I woke up early to do some work, I realized that my usual spot in the dining room would be off-limits because of the Beast’s guitar project.

I was wrong.

Foodie: **

Beast: **