It’s the small things that drive people crazy. The slow, steady drip of a leaky faucet is a great example. Is it a big deal? Nope. But once you notice it, you can’t tune it out. And gradually, one, slow, drop, at, a, time, it makes you lose your goddamn mind.
And today, I’d like to take a moment just to get one of those small things off my chest. Believe it or not, it’s not about food. Rather, it’s about service.
Once again, this is a rant about spoons. But forks and knives also get caught up in the mix this time.
Somehow it may be possible that the FLB is stacking together three quarters of tours into a three month time frame. The spring ice cream tour was in July. The summer savory tour will be in August. And if we’re lucky, the fall cider donut tour should be in September.
Egads. I guess this is what happens when we have such a long winter, and there’s a delay in the spring tour.
Oh well. We move on.
Last year, we launched the summer Tour de Italian Deli. As it turns out, the event was both so interesting and so fun, that I want to make it a regular feature. At least for a few years, until we can cover off most of the region’s excellent Italian Delis. And the best way to do that is by tackling one corner of the region at a time.
Today, I announce the date for our next outing and open up the floor to nominations. So if you have a favorite place you would like to see make the tour, this is the time to speak up.
Crap. I was taken.
Let the buyer beware. That’s a good axiom to follow. It’s why I recommend reading the ingredients of the food you buy. Every. Single. Time. Sometimes formulations change. Other times, you slowly become aware of ingredients you don’t particularly want in your food.
But dammit, we’re busy people, and we don’t have time for that. We buy brands. Brands are supposed to help create shortcuts when shopping. Brands are trusted. Brands represent certain values.
However, brands too also change. Look at Breyers or Dunkin’ Donuts. Neither represents what they once were. Yet people haven’t caught on to the fact that their beloved brand of yesterday is now just an empty promise, profiting off a memory.
Yesterday, it was brought to my attention that my beloved Cabot Greek-style yogurt is not the product I thought it to be.
Well, it’s back to the summer grind. The mountains were wonderful. My back is feeling a good bit better. And tomorrow we get another share from our CSA.
After the big vacation, I was too tired to make it out to the Madison Pour House for the remarkable event on Saturday, which was a bummer. But I did get to catch up on a little homemaking. It’s hard coming back from a trip, because your refrigerator is empty, and you’re out of your routines.
Except our refrigerator wasn’t entirely empty. There was a fair bit of produce that needed to get cleared out before Tuesday. So I did the only thing I know how to do in order to turn a large quantity of vegetables into a small quantity of vegetables. I broke out the food processor and got ready to make some funky slaw.
Sigh. It will be interesting to get back home after this vacation and see how the scale thinks I’ve behaved. For the most part I have been pretty good. I ate a few wings and a couple slices of pizza at Screamen Eagle. There’s been a bit of cheese, a few fried foods, and a couple modest servings of ice cream. So far, I’ve avoided the temptation of fries covered with cheese and gravy with a little help from my friends.
But there was only so much I could do about the donuts.
Mary’s White Pine Bakery had been calling my name. Everything about the shop seemed like a winner. So I decided to brave the early morning drive into town and pick up donuts for the twelve humans cohabiting in this rental house.
So here’s a question for all you normal people. What would the appropriate quantity of donuts be for such an errand? I only ask, because I’m clearly far from normal, and I’m kind of curious what you would do.
Because this was my approach.
There is a poutine place on the far side of the lake. So I hopped in the canoe and decided to traverse the lake to see if this remote outpost in the Adirondacks might have a source of cheese curds that retain their squeak when tossed with crisp fries and hot gravy.
Do you know what went squeak though? My back, as I was pulling the canoe out of the water onto the landing at the other side of the lake. And to add insult to injury, the restaurant was closed on Tuesdays.
Now it hurts when I stand, hurts when I sit, and hurts when I lay down. So if I’m a bit extra grumpy for the rest of the week, you may understand why. Fortunately, our rental house is stocked with plenty of old VHS tapes, so I may be able to find ways to distract myself.
I’ve got plenty of popcorn and soda in the house too, which I picked up before the back went out at the local market. And I was both delighted and dismayed about what I found there.