Dept. of Cheating: See here for details.
What he said, plus let me just emphasize the incredible, mind-boggling awfulness of our dinner experience. There is really no excuse. It’s the Mission District, it’s Saturday night, it’s San Francisco; we had reservations, they weren’t terribly busy (well now we know why!), there was no excuse…THEY JUST DIDN’T CARE.
Sigh.
In other news: though I’m exhausted and ready to crash, and despite some unexpected and dismaying family news, I did manage a thousand words on the Seekrit Project just now, plus a thousand yesterday morning before all the weekend’s excitement started. For a total of 6,095. Hey, it’s a start! More details soon, I really hope. But meanwhile, here’s a tiny WIP:
“I’ll go take the sacks out to the shed after the dishes are settled,” Arouf said, pushing back from the table with a contented sigh.
“No, you cooked; I’ll clean up. Go ahead.” Sian rose and gathered the bowls, carrying them to the washbasin. “A one-pot meal is not so much trouble.”
“Fair is fair.” Her husband pulled his boots on and went out the kitchen door. He hefted the sacks of dye two at a time, which never failed to impress Sian. Small as they appeared, they were dense and weighty. Arouf must not be feeling arthritis in his joints.
Or maybe it was all the spicy meals he ate. Sian felt her insides burning as she scraped the bowls into the bin for the chickens. Not an unpleasant burn, exactly; but she couldn’t make three meals a day of the peppers as Arouf could. Once a day, for regularity, and that was plenty; then bland, creamy mek to break her fast, and a little bread and cheese for the midday meal.