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Emergency Frozen Lasagna

Just outside St. Joseph’s Hospital’s emergency waiting room…

Beast:  Well, what’s wrong with you?

Foodie:  The doctor says I have Plantar Fasciitis.  It’s basically an inflammation of the ligament that runs the length of the bottom of my foot.  And that’s why the toe beside my big toe has on occasion been feeling prickly and hot too.

Beast:  What caused it?

Foodie:  He said jumping and running, or bad posture or bad footwear.

Beast:  I think it’s from all the jumping you do.

Foodie:  What jumping?

Beast:  I’m joking.  Is it permanent?  What do you do to fix it?

Foodie:  He said to freeze a water bottle and roll it around with my foot.  I don’t know if it’s permanent.

Beast:  You didn’t ask?

Foodie:  No.

Beast:  Well how long should you stay off it?

Foodie:  I don’t know.

Beast:  Didn’t you ask any questions?

Foodie:  Ah, let me think.  No.  He was very handsome though–like an Asian Bradley Cooper.

Beast:  Wow.  I can’t believe you don’t know if you’ll be afflicted with this forever or what you have to do to fix it.

Foodie:  He said to just ice it and that’s all I could do.  And then he asked me if I wanted something for the pain.  And I said, “What do you think?” And he said, “Well, pain is relative.”  And then I said, “Well yes please, I’ll have whatever it is you were about to prescibe.”  So let’s go to the pharmacy and get me some Tylenol 3!

Beast:  May I have some?

Foodie:  Sure!  But maybe we shouldn’t have them at the same time.  Doctor said they really knock you out and somebody is going to have to take care of me today.  I need to rest my plancktar scilliakitosis.

And the Beast rose to the occasion with surprising finess.  He rented five movies–maybe not movies I would pick out–but at least they weren’t documentaries on dead Jazz musicians so couldn’t really complain.

And then there was dinner.  I had made fun of the Beast last week for buying a $10 family size frozen lasagna from Loblaws.  But I wasn’t laughing when it came out of the oven.  It got gloriously crispy–maybe even a touch burnt–but that’s how I like it.

The Beast also made a caesar salad and sliced up a warmed and buttered Ace Bakery baguette.  I don’t know if it was the Preston Sturges’ Palm Beach Story that we watched with dinner, or the fire we had going, or the Tylenol 3, but it was the finest frozen lasagna dinner a girl with planter’s scillaactisosis could ask for.

And it just kept getting better!  The Beast prepared me some of the rhubarb crisp I’d baked before I was afflicted with my serious foot ailment.  I must say, it’s one of the best ones I’ve made too, I think because the January rhubarb right now is so gloriously pink and perfect.  

Why yes, that is a quenelle of vanilla ice cream on top.  You see earlier that morning, before our trip to the emergency room, I was reading the paper and drinking coffee and I got all in a puff over something that  Joanne Kates wrote in her Globe and Mail review of Gilead Bistro: she said, “I doubt anyone under 40 even knows what a quenelle is.”  

Foodie:  How can she be so out of touch?  I bet the millions of people that watch Top Chef, Hell’s Kitchen, and nearly every show on the Food Network, know what a quenelle is.  I mean, food, the history of food, and gastronomy in general, aren’t just discourses that interest a select few anymore.  But she hangs on to that sort of elitist misapprehension, and reveals it in some way in nearly every one of her columns.

Beast:  What’s a quenelle?

Foodie:  Are you joking?!  It’s when you take two spoons and–

Beast:  Oh that!  I love quenelles!

To prove it, the Beast quenelled some ice cream on top of my rhubarb crisp.  I was very impressed.  But all of his nursing, cooking, dish washing and quenelling must have really tuckered the poor thing out: he promptly fell asleep on the couch, with his head on my lap.  I stayed up and watched the Swedish almost-horror movie, Let the Right One In.   I was too scared to fall asleep.

Gosh, I hate to say it, but considering how much attention I got, I almost don’t mind having a case of plainold shitiousness.   The hospital bracelet now sits on our mantel.  I plan on wearing it whenever I don’t want to cook or do dishes.  

Foodie:  ***1/2

Beast:  ****

Footnote:  I do not make a habit of visiting the emergency room in place of seeing my family doctor.  In fact, I had called my doctor on Saturday morning but he wasn’t  in.  His receptionist said I ought to go to emergency, and the Beast concurred when he saw that I could not walk down the stairs.

Categories: At Home

9 replies »

  1. I felt a very brief spell of smugness brought on by my familiarity with quenelles, until I remembered that I was well over 40, and, according to J. Kates* hailed from a time when they were to the youths of yore as the exploding pizza pocket is to teens of today. Sorry to hear about the plantar fasciitis. It will go away, and you’ll be as good as new. In fact, I know someone who has a night splint you can borrow. Wait, would that be weird? It’s not like its a retainer or anything…

    *often an idjit

  2. This night splint will speed along my recovery I assume. My limping is getting me attention at work and at home so I don’t know how fast I want to heal. But it might be a good idea. I’ll take it.

  3. Talk to Liz Lemon about the night splint. And don’t tell her I sent you. Remember, though, there is no need to give up the limp if it gets you stuff. Even though I am mostly as chillaxed as a three-toed sloth on Demerol™ I have adopted a harried expression that makes me seem extremely busy and makes people very wary of approaching me at work. So lonely now, though…

  4. Foodie, I’m sorry to hear about your affliction and I wish you a speedy recovery!

    I wanted to ask, as you seem like someone who knows from restaurants…I’m getting married in 2 months (I believe Beast’s brother is going to be the best man and you’re both invited to the drinks ‘do!) and am wracking my brain trying to find a good place to go for our wedding day lunch with the family.

    May I impose on you or your other commenters’ expertise to suggest anything? It’s on a Saturday, and a lot of places seem to be closed for lunch on Saturdays…We’re thinking steaks and frites but are not averse to brunch food, if that helps.

    Gratefully yours,

  5. Congratulations Monika! This is lovely news. Right off the bat, I thought of Union on Ossington. They’re open for lunch but not too many people go (yet). That might be an option. I was also thinking about Odd Fellows on Queen at Shaw: They do private functions and it’s such a cute space (one long table). They also rent out a Winnebego for private parties! I’ll keep thinking…hope others chime in too!

    • Just thought of something else. For steak frites, maybe Le Select Bistro? They have such a pretty space and family would be impressed I bet. Maybe they even have a private room for this sort of thing. And also, maybe La Palette on Augusta?

  6. Thanks so much, Foodie! Actually, yesterday, as I was looking for a vintage dress for the wedding, my sister spotted The Burger Shoppe on Ossington and as everyone we know loves burgers, we talked to the manager about booking our lunch there. Have you ever been? If so, is it any good? I trust your judgement!

    I will also look into Le Select, as I’ve heard loads of good stuff about it. Thanks again for the recommendations!

  7. Oh I feel your pain, Miss Foodie. I, too, had plantar fasciitis from wearing shoes that poorly supported my tootsies (while waitressing, no less). May I suggest this link:

    My mother is a physiotherapist and suggested that I buy one online when I had my bout with PF. It nicely supports the underside of your foot so all those tendons can heal. Not-so-fashionable for spring shoe-wearing BUT it works like a charm so you won’t need to hobble around. Although it sounds like the sympathy gets you tasty meals. So maybe you shouldn’t heal TOO quickly…

    And an unrelated note: Friday nights aren’t the same without you, Foodie! We miss you. 🙂

    Heal soon and take care.

    xo Amy

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