I know y'all have been on the edges of your seats and so I am here to tell you that we did go grocery shopping. Oh yes, we did. And now we have things in the pantry and things in the refrigerator and yet, despite filling up a cart full of items at Trader Joe’s yesterday, I still ate two tablespoons of hot fudge and a bag of mini carrots for dinner tonight. We could very well have left all our bags at the checkout counter because when I look into the fridge there is nothing that stands out except that damn jar of fudge that beckons to me with all its thick, rich, chocolatey scrumptiousness.
And, anyway, we technically ate dinner at an awards ceremony earlier this evening, if meatballs, little wieners, ruffles, and a variety of cheeses count as dinner. Which, in my world? Are you serious? That’s like a four-course banquet.
But, wait. Last night. Last night we made a roast chicken and mashed potatoes. By we, I mean I got all squeamish about touching the raw flesh of a dead bird which could have bird flu, you never know, and directed the preparation of the chicken from a safe distance on the other side of the sink. I did hold the mixer to mash up the potatoes, while Will added things like milk and butter and garlic salt and chives. Teamwork! We were quite impressive and I should have taken a photo of the finished chicken (which was nice and goldenish brown because I followed Martha's instructions and put a foil tent on it) but by the time the dinner was finally finished, I was so hungry that I was about to run to Del Taco for a quick snack. The recipe said the chicken would feed six people. Impossible. Six third graders, maybe.
Photos from Atlanta and some streaming video of me after two big bowls of mai tai from Trader Vic's. Rene took the movie and has more, including one of Will singing his unique rendition of La Bamba, coming soon.