Single mom detail again. It's November, so it must be Vienna. Time to rid the world of nuclear weapons. Or at least try to get people to talk about it, anyway.
Hubby was off for his usual week of non-proliferation meetings in Austria, while the Doodle and I stayed home and puttered through the daily routine. This time around, Mom came up to help out. (We'd just finished all the repainting and the house was a disaster, but she still insisted on lending a hand with cleaning and cooking ... and dressing the Doodle, making breakfast for me, doing my laundry ... gawd bless 'er.)
I love when she cooks for me. She brought up a giant batch of her own squash soup to stock my freezer, and made The. Best. Bacon-and-Tomato Sandwiches. Ever. (I could easily make that myself, but it doesn't taste NEARLY as good as when Mom makes it. I think that's a universal constant ...)
Then she introduced me to Farm Boy take-out. Having grown up in Cornwall, I was a big fan of this home-grown sensation that has since expanded throughout the National Capital Region. Always the freshest of everything, from fish to meats to organic produce and then some. If it weren't for that annoying little animatronic Farm Boy singing country songs on his stage, it would be a perfect shopping experience.
The take-out counter at the Ottawa store (on Bank street, near Billings) was as tempting as ever. We ogled the colourful spread of salads, entrees and appies beckoning to us from beneath the glass drool-guard, before picking out three slabs of breaded chicken cutlets, paired with a chunky marinara sauce. Brought it home, heated it up, and lickety-split, not just ONE meal, but THREE: I had traditional chicken Parmesan, the Doodle had chicken fingers, and Mom squeezed fresh lemon juice over hers and dubbed it schnitzel.
I may never cook again.