I had a nice dinner last night with a friend. We caught up and then some. The time just flies these days, and friends' birthdays pass and I'm on to the next before I know it. I like to get out of the house. When I'm home, I'm responsible for dinner, and frankly, dinner is not of much interest to me these days. Lunch is when I'm hungry, and sometimes late afternoon. If I was by myself, I'd snack and skip dinner. My husband still likes dinner and is starved, and in that we are incompatible. No biggie, but I'd like to eat more when I feel like it, and I might like dinner more if someone else did it. My husband is great with BLTs and grilled cheese sandwiches. That's it, end of story. If I can't face the kitchen, we go out or pick up take out.
Now you can say I had dinner out last night, and technically, that's true. But it was at one of those places with four beets the size of peas and a tiny pool of sauce and a couple of greens. Some items were too small to identify. We shared a pizza as well, which was visible, but thin and well, the whole thing was about the amount of one regular slice, or less. I did have a beer. But we ate light, more like snacking, and the kind of place my husband hates because he's still hungry afterward. He doesn't understand presentation. Not a bit.
For me, it was all about the conversation, and taking a long time to eat a very little, and the surprise of finding out the small little white carrots were actually scallops. Who knew? Baby scallops, I guess, young enough that they still should have been accompanied by their mother. Dear reader, I ate them. Mea culpa.
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