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Expected to know
all the dishes, servers eat
the entire menu.
Panera’s didn’t
call, nor Applebee’s. Rejec-
tion’s hard at sixteen.
such a sweet ride they
didn’t want to leave so they
did Wendy’s drive-thru
All around it, the
town is dead. Pity the poor
taken investors.
Like cows with their cud
we would chew constantly, and
then we’d all swallow.
One piece would last for
hours and have few calories.
(I’m working on it.)
Shopped a membership
warehouse store today. Got six
years’ worth of ketchup.
Vegans, stay away,
lest your firm resolve melt from
tender smoked brisket.
I eat meat because
it’s Texas. Tender steak like
beef cotton candy.
Bergamot infused
leaves unfurl comfort. Problems
dissipate like steam.
They walk the carpet.
We eat takeout Chinese and
scream for our favorites.
After the illness
taste dulls on the tongue, food just
fuel to run this husk.
Some people like to
cook. Then there’s me who dreads that
thing called dinner hour.
Final dinner at
Duggan’s Reef. Whiskey lobster
and desserts delight.
Through the rainforest.
Lunch at Rhythms Rainbow Beach,
then Carambola.
Lazy day, lazy
night. Dinner at seven with
turkey and plantains.
Nut brown ale. Oatmeal
stout. Bayside, we eat gumbo,
salads, tan through lunch.
Cheeseburger joint with
singer grateful for applause.
Relaxed crowd, staff slow.
Green flash at Sunset
Grill on Sprat Hall Beach. Then dined
in lush tropic style.
At Schooner Bay, iced
tea - 60 cents at Big Lots -
is nearly three bucks.
Island band’s Christmas
tunes with a reggae twist our
dinner serenade.
Cruzan pineapple
flavored rum makes happy hour
even happier.
Not enough time for
cookies, cards, decorating.
Which one do I skip?
Sometimes, the hunger
that compels you to eat a
cookie is sadness.
Two tribes - In-laws and
Parents - force you to over-
eat, then watch TV.
On weigh-in day I’d
inhale helium if it
would make me lighter.
To eat or not to
eat? My stomach says yes, my
hips scream don’t you dare.
I really should start
dinner. But husband’s gone, so
I’ll just blog and starve.
Post-tryptophan, we
watch Forrest Gump and digest
the day’s memories.
Don’t count calories.
Savor silken pumpkin, tart
cranberries. Taste joy.
Tempting smells - so strong
they nearly satiate the
appetite - drift by.
They’ll watch football. We’ll
cook. Men and women. Hunters
and gatherers still.
If every meal
were cereal, we’d all have
more hours in the day.
Brine, barbecue, deep
fry, roast, smoke? How many ways
can you do one Tom?
I’m the kitchen air
traffic controller, and the
oven my runway.
If you clear out the
fridge for the turkey, then where’s
the other food go?
Canned pumpkin sold out.
Damned overachievers! I’m
a “last-minute” type.
Too many carbs. Need
tea, coffee, power drink. No
rest for the weary.
Coffee with M is
a reminder of what smart
women are about.
Any more coffee
and I’ll have energy to
power six cities.
Cup of coffee gets
you free wireless. Suburban
pretty people lunch.
Reading haikus is
like eating chestnuts. You stop
after a bad one.
They saw a film on
how poultry is killed. They cluck
as I eat hot wings.
Dishwasher rumbles
like a distant storm. Water
churns, carries debris.
The espresso cups,
sleekly designed, just one more
thing to put away.
I cook mornings so
I can eat evenings. I call
it planning ahead.
When you take skim milk
in your coffee, heavy cream
is an indulgence.
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