"What We Eat When We Eat Alone" by Deborah Madison in this month's AARP magazine was an unwise choice of breakfast table reading material this morning. Bread soaked in margarita mix. Toasted rye bread with cheddar and marmalade. A mixture of American cheese, Miracle Whip and pimento. OOOOOOOOh, the stomach flips and flops.
It might not have been quite so bad if I hadn't made another unwise choice Monday afternoon. Mike wanted to stop at a nearby ice cream shop for a sundae. If you're ever in Nokomis, Florida and have the yen for ice cream, check out Bentley's.
Now I love ice cream. When I was very little my Aunt Stacia and Uncle Linus inherited his family's dairy farm and my aunt opened up dairy bar featuring home made ice cream and milk shakes--dream relatives for a kid. Long car trips with my family as I was growing up--always a stop along the way for an ice cream cone break. When Ben and Jerry opened their first little scoop shop in an old gas station in downtown Burlington, VT--it didn't happen often, but it did happen that we would take our grown up selves on a 70 mile one way trip just to get ice cream.
See, I love ice cream. Unfortunately, these days it does not love me back. Being such a loving and dutiful wife, though, I couldn't deny my poor lactose tolerating husband a rare treat. I said, "Sure. I'll get a small scoop of mango-peach sherbet." It's good, but it wasn't calling to me quite as loudly as the Kahlua chip ice cream. I made an unwise decision, and this morning--no need for TMI, but I really, really regret it.