Sunday, February 28, 2010

Conquering my Culinary Fears

What is going on with me? One day I make mashed potatoes for the first time in my life, and a few days later I am cutting up a whole chicken. Like taking meat off bones. Did I roast it myself? God, no! Why would I when it comes already cooked for $4.99? Although maybe one day I’ll do that, too. For now I am content to have conquered Culinary Fear Inadequacy #2.

I did okay, although I’m not sure I could have served it up on a platter with roasted vegetables for dinner. Actually, I am absolutely sure I could not have served it for dinner; I won't even post the picture of the little piles of separated meat. I probably should have watched a how-to video on-line first, but I wasn't after presentation as much as I was after a shortcut for cooking this week, and--frankly--to conquer the beast. Before I could even begin to consider applying for Next Food Network Star I definitely need to take apart a bird, cooked and--ew--raw. (And, Amy, you need to conquer mushrooms. And avocado.  STAT.) But I'm getting way ahead of myself. Back to the already roasted bird.

I was able to get enough meat off the bones without hurling (or packing it up and bringing it to my mother's) to have chicken a hundred different ways this week. Well, four ways—plus I put some in the freezer for another time. The plan for the week is to make tortilla soup (which will be another culinary first, though not a milestone) for lunch and to share, to have chicken quesadillas for dinner one night, and to make curried chicken salad and tarragon chicken salad.

Maybe one of those will be pretty enough to photograph and post.

Friday, February 26, 2010

[Heart] Note... to Sharing Laughs with Lindsay

I was sitting on my couch this afternoon too tired to fire up or feign any kind of WOO HOO, IT'S THE WEEKEND feeling. Instead, I was annoyed that the Oympics were still on, so Ellen wasn't, and I had to wait until 4 for Oprah on another network...

Then my phone made that funny sound that means you have a text message. I opened it and found this picture message with a note attached from Lindsay (Donna's beautiful and grown-up daughter who had to coach me on how to get this photo from my cell phone to my computer).

"haha the theatre clearly doesn't use spell check"

I laughed out loud.

For indulging (and sharing?) my neuroses, for taking this picture and sending it to me, for making me proud and making me laugh, I [heart] Lindz, and this, on many levels...

(Go, Salve!)

Tuesday, February 23, 2010

Shame on Me!

So there I was with my recipe list and a plan. I had two plans, actually: the snow day plan and the no-such-luck plan. I had all my ingredients ready to roll--or slice and dice and sauté, I should say--when it occurred to me that ...this is painful to admit...wait for it....please don't judge me....I have never made mashed potatoes. I am 44 years old, a self-proclaimed foodie and good cook, AND I claim to be my mother's daughter, but I have never made mashed potatoes. What a fraud! I should just go to my freezer and throw the keilbasa out! Never having made mashed potatoes also means...gosh, this isn't getting any easier...that I, Miss Crate and Barrel, Miss Kitchen-Gadgets-Change-my-Life, did not have a potato masher. In my ginormous utensil crock. I have a nearly a dozen spatulas, spoons, a rolling pin, a meat mallet, but no masher.

Sure, I could have cheated and run back into the store for a bag or box of instant mashed potatoes, right? Or picked some up from the take out section.They are NOT the star of the show, or the canvas for my mother's gravy or Thanksgiving turkey, after all. Well, I didn't. I needed to make good. I faced my inadequacy and decided to conquer it. I drove right to the store and bought a potato masher. That's right. It's in my crock as I write.  I'm testing it tonight.

PS It's me again! That would be Miss Potato McMasher, Fluffy McSpuds  to you. I AM my mother's's like I'd been making them my whole life. The recipe was coded in my DNA somehow; making them was instinctive.

 Oh, yeah! ...How do you like me now?!! Time to make the shepherd's pie...

I Want my MSNBC!!

Phew! If the Olympics preempted msnbc programming again and I had to miss Hardball one more night, I'm not sure how I could have gotten through my first day of readjustment to life as normal.

I like the Olympics and all, and know enough not to watch medal ceremonies because they make me weep, but at this point I think I've had enough. This year it feels like yet-another-Xtreme-sport. Sometimes I feel like I'm just watching someone take crazy risks.

And if I see one more filler story on why the Canadians say ey,  although I've seen it spelled eh, I might scream. We get it. Media sent people there and dammit they aren't going to let them sit around the fire après ski, or in between reporting on events. Make 'em work! Send them off to talk to Canadians. Fill air time with inanity.

Speaking of inanity, I would rather be entertained by clips of Shawn Hannity and Sarah Palin while learning about what's really going on in the world, and here at home. I know that the Olympics are a great diversion, and trust me, I know we need them at times like this but really: curling?

Monday, February 22, 2010

Healing Arts

I've been a little off lately--mostly distracted and a little sad. Although this is my place to tell my tales of navigating through midlife, I'm choosing not to write about this current lull. I never intended this blog to be a therapy page. Rather, it has been a place to practice writing and share, in that writing, tales from my journeys. While I certainly have used this space to vent and share personal stories—all of which are not joyous, I don't want to be a Debbie Downer. I don’t want to develop a habit of dumping my crap and if I did I may as well go to ivillage and find support there. (No offense to any Village people.) Furthermore, I try to choose to be happy, and optimistic. While I like to make people think, and take stock, and all that serious stuff, I also like to make people laugh. I think I like that the most of all. If I can make someone think and laugh in the same post, well then I've really accomplished something good.

So I am willing to share with you where I have been putting some creative energies lately: cooking. I am going through one of those creative phases when I find it is healing to create. I like making nice things among the ugliness; I like to have control over something. Hence, my cooking list grows by the minute and has me craving a snow day despite wanting so very badly for winter to be over. I know I just had a vacation but, really, when else am I going to make the tortilla soup AND corn and crab chowder AND crab wontons AND shepherd's pie?

I just cannot walk by that bowl of tomatoes and garlic--which stands in front of my ginormous utensil crock and next to my yellow bowl of onions (red and yellow) and close by my salt cellar (which, by the way changed my life; it's right up there on the list with my new can opener), and pepper grinders and olive oil (ooh, that would be another nice photo)--without being inspired to either a) take a picture (another creative outlet) or b) think of how I could use them. Or both. Hmmm, is there a recipe on my list that calls for Romas? See?!? As you can imagine, opening a cupboard these days is a fairly frightening proposition.

I could sequester myself for days (as long as I have "provisions," of course); I could do this for a living. I flip through my magazines and cookbooks. A few minutes at a time, I can while away hours and hours plotting, scheming, and making lists of interesting recipes, ingredients, what I have and what I need, what to cook and when to cook it. When eventually I cook it or something else to use the ingredients (because you know I hate to waste) I will for a few minutes feel so very satisfied--before I even eat it. Ta da! There on a (most likely pretty) plate, with or without photographic evidence, is my masterpiece.

Tasting good these days is just a bonus.

Sunday, February 21, 2010

[Heart] Coupons

I'm back from Boston and facing the reality of going back to work tomorrow, which meant putting together a grocery list and running a couple of errands today. So while I drank my coffee this morning I looked through the grocery store fliers and made my list. Since one of the supermarkets I patronize is offering three double dollar coupons this week, I also looked through my manufacturers' coupons.

Imagine my delight when I got to the produce section and found some baby arugula marked down as a special today, for less than half the original price. $1.99! Hello?!? So what the best by date is tomorrow? It looked great in the package and I'm sure I can stretch it a day or two longer and use it a couple of different ways in lunch or dinner this week.

But wait! It gets better. I had a $1.00 off coupon and a double dollar coupon with me and that means it would be free!!! In fact, I got a paid a penny to take this off the shelf! Lucky me! Arugula! Free!

I [heart] coupons!

Thursday, February 18, 2010


Remember a few days ago, at the beginining of the week things when things were looking good, vacation was in front of me and time felt endless...? I thought I'd have all the time in the world to do whatever I wanted, and my schedule would be as flexible as those Olympic figure skaters who can pull their legs over the backs of their heads (while spinning, no less). Yeah, well, not so much. It didn't really work out that way. Yesterday afternoon, when I was sitting waiting for my FedEx delivery, despite my attempt to get an ETA that morning, tense and on edge, I thought, It's Wednesday; vacation is half over and I'm not relaxed! I know, I am fortunate to have a job, lucky to have a week off in February, but vacation was not playing out the way February vacations in the past have.

At 3:30 my phone arrived, I met Amy out for a drink while it charged, and eventually--after my mini-meltdown trying to get my contact list transferred from one phone to the other, at which point I called technical support and thoroughly entertained the poor guy who got my call--decided it would all be okay. I could (should) go to bed knowing all my obligations and commitments were done and I would wake up and get ready to go to Boston and get out of my space and my own way and get to that relaxing.

Time to pack...

Tuesday, February 16, 2010

Excitement Postponed

I woke up this morning all excited...not because I'd get to write my 200th post (although it is a milestone), not because it was going to be a snowy day (in fact it's what I, and some other teachers, would call a waste of a snow day since we are on vacation), or because I'd get to wear my new boots today, but because my new cell phone would arrive today Fed Ex.

I still don't need my cell phone to fold my laundry or truss a chicken, but the time has certainly come to upgrade under my “new every two” plan. I remind you that I've been using my penultimate phone (it has an antenna) subsequent to last summer’s pool incident and because, well… I’ve become a texter. Hi, my name is Joanne, and I send a lot of text messages. [group replies] Hi, Joanne. Sometimes texting is just faster and easier than a phone call. It could be even faster if I didn’t have to hit a button three times for a single letter to come up on my screen. A full QWERTY keyboard is certainly in order.

On Saturday I went on line and looked at what was available to me—with my eye on those phones that would be free with my upgrade and credit and yada yada. I narrowed my selection to two phones: a Blackberry Curve in smoky violet, and a Samsung Intensity in red, knowing I’d probably go with the latter, since I can’t really justify paying an addition $25 a month for my plan on a Blackberry and don’t need to get emails on my phone. I’m not in sales or on the road a lot; I really just need to talk and text on my phone. Still, the purple is pretty.

Of course when I got to the phone store I find out that both of the phones would be free AFTER my mail-in rebate, and after the initial hard sell of the Blackberry (“I went with a Blackberry and I’ve never looked back”) and an upgraded plan, the sales rep finally caught on that I didn’t want to part with a single cent. Not only did he concur that the Samsung would suit my needs, but he also told me that if I went home and back on line I could get the phone truly free, because the rebates are available instantly on line, and have it in just a couple of days, because they ship using Fed Ex two day. So I did just that. It all worked out perfectly! What are the chances of that?

I woke up thinking Yay, today is the big day! My order was processed on the 13th, and shipped on the 14th, and today is the 16th, right?... Well, on Verizon’s end my order was shipped on the 14th. On Fed Ex’s end it was shipped on the 15th…and so when I got on line and checked with Fed Ex tracking I found out it’s not due until tomorrow by 7pm.

But I have a pedicure appointment tomorrow at 11! And I’m supposed to go out for a late lunch! And if I miss it tomorrow I won’t be home Thursday to get it because I'm going to Boston. So I have to try to do everything today that I wanted to do tomorrow but It’s snowing!

Ugh! Technology!!

Monday, February 15, 2010

Mad for Mexican

Okay, I guess I love more than fish tacos. Lately I've been into Mexican food in general. Not grease laden, deep fried, overly cheesy [insert air quotes] Mexican, but fresh Mexican at home. Jill would say it means I'm ready to move to San Diego, but I think it's just become my new way of healthy cooking for one. Not that I don't [heart] San Diego...

No troughs of food to eat for days on end or to give away so I don't feel guilty for wasting food (thanks, Ma). No gallons of soup to find containers to store and divvy up. (Which does not mean I don't like to share food.) Sometimes it's just easier to cook something quickly for myself, eat, and be done with it.

I can make one or two fish tacos, one or two quesadillas. Quesadillas in particular are a perfect way to combine leftover ingredients with pantry items and fridge (and freezer) staples and the produce I can't walk by in the grocery store without putting in my basket. If I have a beautiful avocado I couldn't resist I can make guacamole; if I don't I do without. No leftover chicken? My quesadillas are vegetarian that night. Those mushrooms starting to go funky in the crisper? I'll throw them right in the saute pan. As for my fish tacos, I prefer the traditional shredded cabbage, but if I only have lettuce on hand, that works fine. And if I don't have a fresh tomato, I can use diced, canned tomatoes in a pinch.

I suppose as with any ethnic cuisine, it utilizes what's fresh and available. Part frugality, part creativity, and no recipe required.

Sunday, February 14, 2010

A Day of Rest

I woke up at 8 this morning, with no alarm clock and without a racing mind. No What am I doing today? Am I all set for school this week? Nope. I woke up well rested and relaxed. And I didn't need to decide on an end point to my relaxation mode. I could enjoy the entire day. And night. Today is a Sunday I could really, really rest.

I had already gotten my laundry and errands done on Saturday. My Valentine's Day celebration will happen later this week in Boston. This morning when I woke up I had no obligations but to enjoy the best day of vacation. Just as Friday night is often the best part of my weekend, Sunday night can be the best day of vacation. The weight of a week's worth of obligations and responsibilities is lifted. I call the shots. I feel sane and safe from the stresses of work. The twelve miles that separates me from my job may as well be one thousand. And a time warp.

Every thought I had today about getting out to do something was followed by thoughts of when else I could do it. Well, I could do that tomorrow; my coupon expires Tuesday. And I guess I could do that Tuesday. Or maybe Wednesday. In the end, other than my trip to the gym and pit stop at Big Y on the way home this morning, I have been content to be at home. It's okay that I "wasted a day" --although I don't consider it a waste, but a joy--because I have a whole week ahead of me.

My alarm clock is off, my coffee timer is off and--other than a few things that are weighing pretty heavily on my mind-- I am happy.

Happy is a good place to be.

[Heart] Fish Tacos

A must for me in San Diego is a fish taco. While I'd prefer to order them, and then eat them in the Pacific Ocean breeze and the California sunsine, making them and eating them at my dining table works too...

Breaded halibut filets (from TJs), shredded cabbage, diced tomatoes, and white sauce in a warm tortilla. So simple.

And fresh. And soft, with a crunch, a little tangy and a touch creamy, hot with cold. All delicious.


Thursday, February 11, 2010


As much as possible, I like to focus on the positive here. My love list grows: good sheets and flowers, bacon and soup, coffee and vodka (sometimes in the same frothy beverage), Lord & Taylor and Trader Joe’s. I love summer vacation and snow days, and a good bargain. Using coupons gives me a thrill, and I love that I can get them on line these days.

But I hate commercials.

They make me reach for the clicker, or leave the room. They are illogical. Nonsensical. Preposterous. Shoving handfuls of sample cheese cubes in your mouth while your baby shrieks in the carriage is not saving. It's making a pig of yourself, hoarding. Washing your hair in the aisle with spring water is stupid, and it's stealing. It's not saving. Shaving your legs in the produce aisle is just gross.

None of the ads depict saving.

I get that sometimes commercials are just meant to be funny, and not based in reality—like the talking e-trade babies. The Geico gecko. The monkeys on ads. But when the grocery store scene is over, and the Muzak stops (by the way, I have NEVER heard that kind of Muzak piped in to the three grocery stores at which I regularly shop--with coupons) the tag line is “there’s a better way to save.”

Likely there's a better ad agency out there, And better things for me to be doing than complaining about your annoying commercials.

Tuesday, February 9, 2010

Storm Provisions

I laugh at the amount of people at the grocery stores today, stocking up on provisions for the storm that supposed to hit us (hard) tomorrow. As if we’ll be snow bound for days. I know we haven’t gotten hit hard yet this winter, but it is New England, people. We can do snow. Baltimore? DC? Not so much. In these parts the roads will be plowed and passable within hours (tops)—back roads and side streets included.

Thank goodness I’ve been watching the news for days and had faith in this one materializing and don’t need to go out in the madness tonight to wait in lines with people buying milk and spring water or at the Red Box kiosk. I’ve got what I need and water and milk aren’t on the list. Shocking, I know. After all I’m a tried and true New Englander, so I’m not in emergency mode. Rather, I’m in snow day mode, readily supplied with everything and anything I need for a delightful snow day.

Snow Day/to do/have

Coffee √(duh)
Cinnamon rolls? Eggs and bacon? √,√
Vodka √ (ditto on duh)
(OJ? Tomato juice, etc.?) √,√
Bugles √
Fritos √
Detergent and softener √
Stuff for: Fish tacos? BLT? Tuna melt and tomato soup? √√√
Netflix √
Chocolate √
Mags √ (ditto: catalogs)
Vodka √

What?! It never hurts to double check…


Nothing evokes instant dread in me like a department or faculty meeting. In fact, just the thought of a meeting, seeing a meeting written in my calendar, or getting a friendly reminder that “we have a meeting tomorrow”—or Thursday, or next week— puts me in a bad mood, too. A fouler mood than wearing uncomfortable underwear does. I’d rather have to keep readjusting a persistent, stretched-out-underpants wedgie than sit with my department or the entire faculty for an hour the one time a month I am required to do so.

When I was the health educator at a formerly all-women’s college in Massachusetts, I had 40 hours of standing meetings a week at some point. They weren’t all dreadful, but the sheer amount of time spent in meetings precluded any attempts at finding balance in my on-campus job. After those meetings I still had programs to run and attend and plan and let’s just say that was the end of my career in higher education.

One of the things I looked forward to when I eventually started teaching was, well, teaching, not meeting. (I also looked forward to not being micromanaged, and that’s not working out so well these days either. But I digress.) And while two hours of meetings a month is nothing compared to forty a week, for those two hours I sit and we get nothing accomplished all I can think of is the papers I have to correct, the photocopies I have to make, the lab I have to prep or take down, and how poking my eye with a sharp pencil would feel better.

I don’t mind meetings if they are productive, if we were to get something done. However, it’s not like we’re rewriting mission statements or deciding on new disciplinary policies. We go through an agenda that can be handled as a memo—do this, don’t do that, we’re changing this no matter what you think. Sometimes we go through the motions of sharing our opinions, but they ultimately don’t matter in the end. Save me the time. Hand down orders in an email and let me do my thing. Or at least provide freshly sharpened pencils or mind-numbing pharmaceuticals to get us through the agenda. A few blow darts to put out the teachers who cannot go a single meeting without speaking up would be nice too.

Since I’m really not a fan of violence or torture, cancelling a meeting would be stupendous. Almost a good as a snow day…(Fingers crossed.)

Monday, February 8, 2010

February Vacation

Anyone who thinks February vacation for public schools is unnecessary needs to shut up. Seriously. I can’t even be gentle about it. I am so tired I can’t stand it. I make it to the gym after school and then feel so fatigued and sore that I have to swallow some ibuprofen to get through the evening as I clock watch until it seems reasonable to head to bed. I resist the urge at 7, and 7:30, make it through till 8:30 then, but by 9 I’m grinding coffee and setting up my coffee maker and turning on the timer and heading upstairs. In the morning I drive to school in the dark, and do it all over again.

I love February vacation because it is relaxing. There are no holiday obligations eating up some of the time and I don’t travel anywhere (as I might in April). Other than spend a couple of days in Boston I will mainly be home, relaxing. Staying cozy and warm. Resting. I can hardly wait. I need February vacation. I need it now.

So I can’t help be a little excited about the weather forecast. I’m trying not to read too much into a memo that came out about a potential snow day and what will happen to our schedule should we not have school on Wednesday. I’m trying not to take it as a sign that I’m not the only one who watched multiple local news meteorologists this morning and therefore not the only one who is hopeful. I have no business asking for a snow day—as I promised I’d stop praying for one and put all my energy into praying for more important things, like Donna’s recovery. (By the way, Thank you, God, for getting her into a clinical trial!)

So I won’t pray for a snow day per se, but I did touch my lucky snowman. And will be so thankful to have one, if we do... because February vacation can’t some soon enough.

Sunday, February 7, 2010

[Heart] Flowers

Last Sunday I bought myself these flowers from Trader Joe's...It was so nice to have them sitting on my coffee table this week; they were there for me to stare at while I was having phone conversations of a difficult kind, and there to distract me from the pile of expired coupons and junk mail that needed attention. They reminded me that doing something nice for myself makes me feel good, and they prompted me to count forward to spring and realize that only 4 months from now I will be spending most of my free time by the pool.

They last longer and cost the same as a bottle of wine and make me feel much better. Well, they don't give me heartburn, anyway...Another of many reasons why I [heart] flowers.

Wednesday, February 3, 2010

A Cousin's Prayer

Dear God,

...It’s me, Margaret…Ha! just kidding. It’s not even Judy Blume. It’s Joanne again.

This morning, when I was on my way to school, ON TIME, and bitter, because unlike surrounding towns my district didn’t have a delay, and I really could have used a little extra time this morning with some cold compresses on my eyes, I thought God must be a teenager. I figured you weren’t trying very hard—happy with the bare minimum effort like so many of my students—to give me that well-timed snow storm for a well-deserved snow day. A snow squall here, overnight flurries there, but no Nor'easter. No snow day. Or maybe you weren’t really paying attention when I was talking, which could likely mean you’re a man. A male teenager. What a kicker!

But I got to school, and saw my eyeliner was doing the trick, and I got busy doing what I do, and I got over the hissy fit. And then during lunch, when Fran and Tim and I were planning labs and activities in our next unit on Mitosis and Meiosis—(much less boring than photosynthesis and respiration), during which we teach about cancer and show a Nova video Cancer Warrior to our students about the groundbreaking research of Dr. Judah Folkman, who unlike the rest of his colleagues did not focus on genes in his cancer research but on angiogenesis, and who didn’t live to see his life’s work take a giant step last year when it was found that people with Down Syndrome are less likely to get cancer perhaps not because they don’t live as long (as had long been held to be true), but because they have three copies of an angiogenesis inhibitor on their chromosome 21—I broke down. As soon as my mental video review got to the part about the man in “clinical trials,” that was it. I lost my sh*t.

And now I’m home. I’ve texted and talked and watched Oprah and I can’t get out of my own way. I don’t feel like writing or posting the picture I took of the gyoza soup I made last night, because everything just seems insipid and insignificant and oh-so-inane right now. I don’t even want a snow day anymore.

What I want is this, dear God. For Donna, for everyone who loves her including me, and for everyone else who has a Donna in his or her life, please let there be a cure for cancer, that stupid bully who doesn’t know when to quit. And if you’re still operating in teenager mode, dear Lord, then please find a clinical trial for Donna. It wasn’t supposed to spread again. Keep whispering in her ear to fight the good fight. Remind her that she is strong and tell her it’s okay, while she fights, to demand a cocktail.

This time, I promise I will give up any and all requests for a snow day AND for new members at the gym to fall off the fitness wagon and for vodka in a pill form. I will live with the dimples on my thighs and don’t care if I never make a million dollars. Really.

Please, God.

Make. Donna. Better.


Monday, February 1, 2010

[Heart] Sandwiches

A few years ago, on a rainy Sunday afternoon in Rome, Amy and I snuck into a café a few blocks from St. Peter’s Basilica to escape the rain and the crowds, and to have a bite to eat. I had that day one of the best sandwiches of my life. It was a ham and cheese sandwich, only we were in Italy, so the cheese was sliced fresh mozzarella, and it had both olive oil and mayonnaise on it, and it didn’t go from deli case to my plate. My panino stopped in the panini press first, just to take the chill out. My stomach just growled just thinking about it.

After returning home, my sandwiches were inspired. La Crosta was my bread of choice that summer, and mozzarella replaced Land O Lakes American. I remember making Caprese salad and letting it sit at room temperature so the olive oil and salt and pepper could work their magic, and then making sandwiches with those slices of tomato and mozzarella to bring to the beach.

Eventually school started and Rome got further away, and I probably started eating salads for lunch. I do [heart] a good salad, and admit to having quite a repertoire of main course lunch salads that I bring to school—from my version of a taco salad: a plop of chili on mainly lettuce, to a trimmed down Cobb, to a blackened shrimp Caesar. I also like leftovers for lunch. Well, certain leftovers. And soup. You know how I feel about soup.

Yet every once in a while I get tired of having to plan for salads, or having the right container, or needing to stand in line at the microwave with my leftovers, whose flavor and texture fate is uncertain after removal from said machine and all I want is a sandwich. I find myself choosing rolls from the bakery bins, and then at the deli counter ordering roast beef, or turkey, or ham, and—dare I say—American cheese. Or I’ll make my curried chicken salad with mango chutney and Craisins and nuts or my Ina fave with grapes and celery. Lettuce usually finds its way in to my sandwiches, even if it’s starting to brown and no longer appetizing enough for a salad. If I have leftover bacon, well, do I even need to tell you? Oh, and I love my mother's bread and butter pickles on a tuna sandwich (but only on a tuna sandwich).

That’s what so great about sandwiches—you can put in it whatever you want or have and you can make up your own rules. Only meat touches mayonnaise, mustard touches cheese, you know, that sort of thing. Make the masterpiece and it’s totally portable. All the food groups held in your hand and delivered in one bite. After another.

Oh how I [heart] a good sandwich.
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