Now and then I wish I still had a real camera. Like this morning, when I saw our friendly neighborhood Cooper’s hawk perched in a tree across the arroyo from El Rancho Pendejo.
He was looking for breakfast, and I was looking for … well, for what, I’m not certain. I wander a bit in the morning, peering through windows without my glasses on while muttering to Herself, Miss Mia Sopaipilla, and the voices in my head between large mugs of strong black coffee and small doses of the news.
Yesterday afternoon I was looking for dinner, and it was surprising how many basic items I was having trouble finding, even with my glasses on.
Eggs were back at Wholeazon Amafoods, so that long national nightmare seems to be at an end for the moment.
But the seafood counter was bare. Emp-ty. As in nothing atall atall. Maybe all the delicious fishies were booked on Southwest? Beats me. But I needed a half pound of shrimp for jambalaya and I waddn’t gon’ get it, me.
Also, the only andouille available had already been tried and found wanting; there was no basil for bolognese, unless you like your basil in huge plastic tubs when what you need is eight leaves; and there were no radishes for the salads, in tubs or otherwise.
Wow, this is really blossoming into a First World Problem, I thought. Someone should write a stern letter to the editor.
Somehow I managed to drop a couple hundy anyway before shoving off to Sprouts, where they had a single packet of basil, but in an unattractive shade of brown. Still, their sausage and shrimp were suitable, so, winning.
Sans basil, the bolognese is on the back burner for now. But the jambalaya turned out fine, lots better than what the Squeaker of the House is going to have to eat for the next two years.
But then again, maybe he likes the taste.