Use Your Noodle

Inspirational song: Fast Food (Richard Thompson)

I'm very tempted to change out the inspirational song that I'd decided on several hours ago. As I lay in bed, waiting to feel the urge to write, I read through Twitter and saw that the man who wrote most of the Schoolhouse Rock songs died today. I feel like I ought to use one of the tunes that shaped such a large chunk of my early education. There are too many favorites to choose from. I can't do it. So I'm sticking with what I had planned.

It's not the most important passing in my life right now anyway. My stepmother's mother passed away yesterday. I hadn't had the opportunity to spend time with her for years, but I remember her as a strong woman whose ten children and many grandchildren and great-grandchildren loved dearly. My heart is with the family this week.

I had intended on writing about food. My day seemed to center on it, for better or worse. Today was Rotary, and I had just set my plate on the table when XS called me to say her scheduled ride didn't come to the high school to bring her over, and could I come instead. I raced off, having secured promises from my tablemates to guard my food from being collected by the bussers while I was gone. I tried to be extra careful in preparing that food, and I didn't want to take risks with a second round. They had invited the state championship-winning basketball team to lunch today, and I watched the teenager in front of me scoop up sloppy joe filling and tap it on the bun on his plate. I waited until he moved forward, reached for a soup spoon, and dished some of the meat from the side of the chafing dish where I had just seen it refilled. No way I could assure a gluten-free scoop if I lost that one.

There's a local Italian restaurant where Mr S-P worked when we were kids (i.e. 20 or 21). Back then, I'm pretty sure there was only one location, and it was a haven for broke college kids. They made their own fresh pasta, and on certain nights, they had all-you-can-eat spaghetti. When they opened a location in our town, the Mr got nostalgic for those simple days, and he has been looking for an opportunity to go there ever since. He found it when we had our exchange student move in. XS is tolerating my gluten-free house fairly well, but she jokes often about my "fake pasta," the quinoa noodles she uses several times a week for snacks and meals. So tonight they went to stuff their faces with gluten, whille I stayed home. I figured if they were going to have noodles, I'd do the same, and made edamame fettucine alfredo. It was close enough for me, without the horrible side effects. I got dispatches from the gluten wars, and we sent each other duelling pictures of noodles. I also got pictures of XS shoveling wheat-based pasta in her face as fast as she could. They both came home looking bloated and aching from all the wheat swelling in their bellies, but they were so pleased with themselves for sneaking out on me (with my blessing) that I didn't have the heart to tease them for overeating.

I thought about using the pictures we sent back and forth, but you already know what a plate of fettucine alfredo looks like, and I'm fairly certain that I'd be murdered if I posted a picture of a teenage girl shoving a giant forkful of spaghetti in her face (murdered by said teenage girl). Think of her looking elegant for the prom, not starved for platefuls of cheap gluten.