The Best Meal I Ever Had

I once read that if you ask an Italian who their favorite chef is, or where one can get the best meal in town, they will respond, "At my great-aunt Nazarina's house" or, if they are politic, "My wife makes the best meal in town." I understood what they meant immediately, as the best food I have ever eaten was made by people in my family or my husband's family. (All of the women in my family are accomplished cooks, as are many of the men. My husband's sister and my mother-in-law are also da bomb -- for instance, my mother-in-law is a genius with chicken cutlets.)

Imagine my dismay this evening, then. Tomorrow night is the rehearsal dinner, and I'm sure it will be lovely. I am also looking forward to the food at the wedding on Saturday, which sounds great. However, let's get real. The best place to eat in Sturbridge is 19 Orchard Road, home of over 300 sprouted bulbs, an army of quince branches and MY MOTHER AND FATHER. Tonight MY MOTHER served Mmlle. W's family some mushrooms (stuffed with ricotta, prosciutto and spinach), lasagna (not MY FATHER, real lasagna), chicken and wine, greens with roasted pine nuts, asparagus and chocolate mouse for dessert. HOW GOOD WAS THAT, DAMMIT?!? I had half a luna bar for dinner. Yuck. Mdme. L and I planned on showing up to "do the dishes" and then steal all the leftovers, which we know will be gone by Sunday, but it was just a fantasy. We knew we'd never get away with it.

And no, I still haven't lost any weight. I think I might have to get radical tomorrow and drink some homemade juice and some of the more SERIOUS teas I have described in earlier posts.

On a more positive note, I got spray tanned today, so I am a nice pale orange color, which has literally brightened my day. Luckily, the only decent clothes I own are black, so I'll be able to pull off a cool Halloween vibe this weekend.

I have to go to bed now. Tomorrow MY HUSBAND is picking up Gramma B. He called her earlier today, so they could plan their little date. He's already explained to me that he has to get up early to bring the car to the car wash and vacuum it. I could give birth in that car (I thought that I was going to, at one point), and he wouldn't clean it for me. He's absolutely gleeful, because while I am cleaning the house and getting ready for the wedding, he'll be gossiping and dissecting current events with Gramma B. I'll be lucky if he doesn't run off with her.

I am kind of excited to clean the house without any kids or husbands in the way. I'd be more excited if someone else would clean it without me in the way, but I'm trying to be "glass half full" here. When my children are not home, and they are pretty much always home, so it doesn't happen often, I can hide all their toys in the cellar. This does two things: 1) Allows me to have a clean house until they find the toys again, and sometimes they NEVER find them again; and 2) Gives the mice more toys to play with and keeps them busy. I now hate toys almost as much as I hate mice. I've never liked toys very much, honestly, or children. Or animals. They don't have any good stories. Give me an old person who was in a war any day. Then you're going to hear a goddamned story.

I just heard a mouse trap go off. That's my cue to go to bed, the evening's murder having been accomplished.