I have a fridge full of porky goodness (damn, that sounds dirty): succulent hot and sweet Italian sausage grillers (Maglio's from South Philly); plump country breakfast links; and a gorgeous pack of center cut bacon. Snuggled next to them is a big chunk of pancetta, recently opened, diced, fried, and strewn atop some absolutely killer homemade potato skins, and a link or two of chorizo, which I really need to fry up with some eggs or add to a fondue. Some of the bacon was used earlier as a base for split pea soup, which is simmering on the stove now. It smells rather awesome, if I do say so myself.
I'm feeling bake-ish but lazy. I want cookies but I don't want to make them. I have some leftover savoiardi from a tiramisu I made over the holidays but I don't want those. I want, I don't know. Not chocolate. Not candy. Just some kind of lovely cookie that goes well with tea. Kee Kee's attempt at thumbprints makes me want those. I used to grab a slice of white bread and spread it with jam whenever this urge would strike but all I have is the jam. Maybe on Ritz crackers? Hell, I don't know. It would require going downstairs and facing the wreckage left by two whirling dervishes and I'm in complete denial about that.
Maybe I'll make a pound cake. Jerry isn't a fan but if I marble it he'll take a slice for lunch tomorrow. But that means it has chocolate in it. And I don't want chocolate. And I don't think I have enough butter. Damn, I'm annoying.
I think I'll go get the crackers. Maybe they'll give me the strength to conquer the carnage. If not, they'll at least taste good. And my tea is lovely. And I've got the first season of Burn Notice to watch whilst cleaning up. Hell, I've got nothing to complain about.