Bread, cheese, fruit, and a chocolate bar

So listen, you guys, I just discovered this amazing new show called the West Wing. It’s about the president and his staff and everybody’s relationships and the pressures of being in charge of the whole show. It’s funny, and there’s this character C.J. who L. likes, and I don’t know who my favorite character is yet but maybe Josh. I guess I’ll have to watch three or four more episodes all in a row, over and over again in order to find out. If L. had to contract probably-swine-flu, at least we got one last fevered lunch with some pretty great TV on DVD.

 

Mozzarella, basil, and tomato with bread and a beer

I snipped the basil from L.’s backyard garden and it was already wilting by the time L. snatched the bouquet from my hands and plunged it into a glass of water. Thing about actual fresh non-wax-sealed vegetables is that you have to eat them fast or they go bad. Who knew! After a fruitful trip to the Fairway, L. set up a plate of caprese, poured beers into a pair of frosty mugs, and we ate in front of a movie on the television. It was a little Italian for such a go-go-America day, I’ll admit. But L. made a flag cake for later, so that compensates a bit for this salute to our Italian immigrant heritage.

 

Vegetable broth, plus some cheese and bread

No two ways around it, I feel awful. Tired, damp in the center of my face, fuzzy headed, whiny, so tired. I heated up some vegetable broth and spooned it into my mouth for total realness sick day, a little cheese and bread on the side so I wouldn’t feel too hungry. The list of things I’d rather be doing is very, very long.

 

Turkey sausage on focaccia, plus green salad

L. stood at the stove cooking sausage from the farmer’s market to eat between pieces of warmed focaccia while I curled up in a ball on the end of the couch wondering how and whether what was happening could actually be happening. Sometimes I marvel at what my skin is asked to contain. We ate in front of an episode of L&O that was particularly implausible–the guy thought he was JFK’s son and would kill to prove it. L. and I weren’t buying it.

 

Cheese, two rolls, and an apple

After coping with an amateur commuter crowd–Grand Central on a Sunday is a little like showing up on race day dressed in performance clothing and finding the velodrome filled with tricyclists–I decided I deserved a lunch of a hunk of fine cheese, a couple of rolls, and an apple, what I imagine must make the lunch boxes of train riders in the South of France. I asked the woman behind the counter at Murray’s what would make a good semi-soft cheese for a ride to Tarrytown, and she suggested this $28 a pound goat cheese produced by animals that “eat in the grass of a chestnut orchard.” Why not? I chomped away as the train made that turn in the Bronx to run just by the Hudson and the river opened up and went on and on, like heaven must be, a train that runs along the river forever. I also talked to K. on the phone. I’d sure been missing her.