Star-Crossed Lunch

(a story… with pictures)

 Lunch woke up on the wrong side of the bed today.

 This:

Photo credit: Epicurious

was the plan—soft homemade gnocchi in a creamy, lemon-zested sauce with tender peas and spinach. Commence drooling. I tend to save the best for last in my weekly meal planning, and this promised to be something special. Plus, spinach turns anything into a diet dish. (Feel free not to debate that last point.)

But lo and behold, the peas?

had developed rigor mortis.

The spinach?

went forth and multiplied, totally swamping (haha) the cream… which was really milk and corn starch since the cream in my fridge had joined the Dark Side.

Not to be outdone, the dishwasher hose snapped,

flooding the kitchen and dampening (hehe) my already-lagging spirits.

I finally got the gnocchi dough out of the fridge and noticed it felt stickier than last time. Half a bag of flour later,

it still bore far too much in common with phlegm.

When Dan walked in for lunch, the kitchen looked like this:

The (un-flooded half of) the floor looked like this:

And the chef looked like this:

Actually, the chef was crying in the bedroom, and upon tasting the swampy spinach cream seeing her forlorn face, her husband wisely suggested they eat out.

At the new barbecue joint!

We had been looking forward to eating there since construction started—you can’t take all the Texas out of a girl, etc.—and the kitschy cow sculpture out front guaranteed some good grub as kitschy cow sculptures do.

Except… well, “barbecue” in Italy means filet mignon and €16 fettuccine and wine and business suits.

We weren’t wearing our business suits.

Plan B was a friendly little restaurant we’ve been to before. The owner is jolly in a Friar Tuck kind of way and makes a fabulous pizza. The prices were good, and it was nearby.

It was also closed.

If this was the Universe’s way of forcing a diet on us, it backfired; there was no where left to go but McDonald’s, and to McDonald’s we went.

And just like that, the afternoon looked up. We picked Natalie up from school and headed to our favorite bar for hot drinks,

and lollipops,

and cuteness abounding.

Then back home, laughing through lollipop drool and staticky winter hair…

…to while away the afternoon with Damien Rice and a bag full of crayons.

(Steadily ignoring the kitchen, of course.)

And lo and behold, it was perfect.

The End