14 July, 2009

last night's supper:

4 portuguese custard tarts*
1/4 hunk of a chevre wheel
2 glasses of campari and tonic with lime
a book


* i am so used to craving these little flaky bits of charred custardy heaven and finding that the italian centre has none, that as usual i went to their bakery section, parked myself in front of the glass display, looked left, looked right, found them missing, and asked the young bakery wench if and when i could be sure to find these in store. she looked at me quizzically and pointed to the blind spot right beneath my gut - a whole tray full. riiight. hi!, quoth i, i'll have 4! i honestly thought they'd do me for a couple of days at least, but as i was in mourning for mister monkey's earlier-than-usual departure, i self-medicated with portuguese** custard tarts.

**for anyone who reads this with any regularity, it shall come as no surprise that i tend to look at myself as rather spectacularly spell-aware. apparently i have never had to spell portuguese before because that second u? it stumped me! who knew it was there? hello second u in portuguese! nice to make your acquaintance!


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