School Lunches at NPR Online
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
TO LEARN MORE ABOUT MY NEW BOOK, GO TO THE DINNER DIARIES WEBSITE.
For my most recent story, go here. Based on one of the sidebars, I've gotten some questions about plastics; for more info you can go here and here.
Bookworm
(With thanks to Roz Cummins for the title)
A UPS truck pulls up in front of the house.
"Maybe it's my books!" I shout out in excitement.
"Maybe it's my worms!" my husband Andy shouts back.
"Maybe," our seven-year-old Solomon says quietly, "it's both."
Even though technically we're done with the meal makeover I outlined in my book, all of us continue to evolve, especially Andy. Constant growth is what you want in a mate; at least, that's what I tell myself. All this talk of improving our diet has only increased his commitment to gardening. He's entered into a kind of do-it-yourself mania: in addition to growing all your garden-variety summer fare – lettuce, tomatoes, squash – he's also moved into the secondary crops including mushrooms, sprouts and tea. (Tea in Boston? I'll keep you posted.)
All this farming means we need fertile soil; enter, stage left: worms for the compost pile. I support all of it – in theory anyway. In reality? Keep your worms away from my books and no one gets hurt.
The UPS man gets out of his truck and walks toward our house. It turns out that Solomon was right: it's both worms and books. In case I was getting any big ideas.
P.S. on August 18: In addition to a new focus on worms (see above), Andy has also gotten into mushroom foraging lately. It makes me a little nervous, but he promises none of us will die, or even go to the emergency room. I've decided to trust him. (We've only eaten chicken-of-the-woods and a bolete so far, and I think that's where we'll stop. Unless he finds morels. Although now he's saying something about a giant puffball . . .)
Still, I can't help wondering what he's thinking when I learn he's picked up yet another new hobby: lock-picking. I hope he's not thinking about his own midlife career change. Nah, just kidding; there are great reasons for him to take this up. I just can't talk about them.
For my most recent story, go here. Based on one of the sidebars, I've gotten some questions about plastics; for more info you can go here and here.
Bookworm
(With thanks to Roz Cummins for the title)
A UPS truck pulls up in front of the house.
"Maybe it's my books!" I shout out in excitement.
"Maybe it's my worms!" my husband Andy shouts back.
"Maybe," our seven-year-old Solomon says quietly, "it's both."
Even though technically we're done with the meal makeover I outlined in my book, all of us continue to evolve, especially Andy. Constant growth is what you want in a mate; at least, that's what I tell myself. All this talk of improving our diet has only increased his commitment to gardening. He's entered into a kind of do-it-yourself mania: in addition to growing all your garden-variety summer fare – lettuce, tomatoes, squash – he's also moved into the secondary crops including mushrooms, sprouts and tea. (Tea in Boston? I'll keep you posted.)
All this farming means we need fertile soil; enter, stage left: worms for the compost pile. I support all of it – in theory anyway. In reality? Keep your worms away from my books and no one gets hurt.
The UPS man gets out of his truck and walks toward our house. It turns out that Solomon was right: it's both worms and books. In case I was getting any big ideas.
P.S. on August 18: In addition to a new focus on worms (see above), Andy has also gotten into mushroom foraging lately. It makes me a little nervous, but he promises none of us will die, or even go to the emergency room. I've decided to trust him. (We've only eaten chicken-of-the-woods and a bolete so far, and I think that's where we'll stop. Unless he finds morels. Although now he's saying something about a giant puffball . . .)
Still, I can't help wondering what he's thinking when I learn he's picked up yet another new hobby: lock-picking. I hope he's not thinking about his own midlife career change. Nah, just kidding; there are great reasons for him to take this up. I just can't talk about them.