I am well stocked with tasty, fresh, and good-for-me food. In addition to my summer produce staples—tomatoes and cucumbers from my mother’s garden—I have romaine lettuce on hand, and celery, and carrots and red onions. Sounds like a perfect salad, right?
Aside from these ingredients ready for slicing and tossing, I have already-made, ready-to-eat foods in my fridge. I made a pot of summer squash and corn chowder last night, and Ann Marie brought me some lentil soup today to the pool. I have falafel in the fridge, and hummus, and whole wheat pitas.
But my good-for-me options don’t end there. In my freezer I have some homemade black bean, corn and chicken quesadillas that I made the other day. (Instead of making one, I made five. I ate one and froze four. Oh my god, I AM my mother.) And two ripe avocados on my counter.
Yet when I came in from the pool, none of those things appealed to me. What called to me was one of the two hamburger patties my mother sent me home with yesterday when I stopped by for cukes and tomatoes. (I know. I’ve told you before.) I wanted to sink my teeth into a burger. And sip a Blood Mary.
So out came my George Forman grill and a whole wheat roll from the freezer. Next came a shower, and then my Blood Mary. While my burger cooked I sliced a tomato, and found the perfect leaf of lettuce. I assembled my burger and felt not an iota of guilt about the finishing shmear of mayonnaise.
Maybe I’ll have a salad for dinner.