By: Blonde Two
Does anyone else have a body that tells them what they need to eat? Mine does all of the time and it usually gets it right. The only exception to this is on a Friday night which is the only night that I allow it to lie to me and tell me that I need to eat salt and vinegar crisps. Sometimes I even crave cabbage which has to be a bit on the unusual side. For all of September, October and November, I was eating brown rice and tinned salmon for lunch because my body told me to. This month, I have tried to eat it a couple of times but apparently don’t need it anymore because I am not enjoying it at all.
When I got home from work last night, I asked my body what it fancied eating up on Dartmoor today (aside from the obligatory pasty). The answer was a jam sandwich, which is unusual because I never eat jam sandwiches. Interestingly, they come highly recommended as a food for adventurers and athletes alike.
Like a good Blonde I decided to listen to my body (at least until the crisps arrived) and create the nearest sandwich that I could to a jam one. I rooted around in the cupboard and, from a selection of marmite, peanut butter and honey, decided that honey was the closest relative to the red sticky stuff (alternative coloured jams are available)! I like honey a lot and a butter and honey concoction seemed like the perfect idea until I looked at the bread which was clearly far too crumbly to survive a butter attack. This conundrum had me peering into the fridge for a while, where the choice was margarine (vile petrochemical stuff) or cream cheese. I opted for the cream cheese (without garlic and herbs) and prepared the sandwich.
Some might argue that cheese is dinner and honey is pudding. They might take that argument further and suggest that eating dinner and pudding together is just plain weird. I would counter this easily by pointing out that my sandwich could be better described as a deconstructed cheesecake and therefore clearly pudding not dinner. Which means that it should taste pretty good after my pasty. I will let you know!
Sounds interesting!!! I am a massive fan on cheese and jam so I’m sure cream cheese and honey will be yummy (although I’m not a massive fan of honey!)
You are right – I remember having this discussion with you last year, when I had sardines or mackerel on toast for weeks before my first knee op, then afterwards I the thought of eating it made me feel sick! I still have tins of the stuff stacked up in the cupboard and still don’t fancy eating it! It’ll have to wait til I injure myself again!!!
Passing through, but on a mission. Here to award putty medals to you and your sibling, alter ego, better-half, worse-half, whatever. Or, if I’m addressing you both simultaneously, to the resultant multiplicity. These medals are unusual in that the winners break rules, don’t follow them.
Walking. A fine sport, I’ve done it myself, once with the Outward Bound Mountain School. Benefits are self-evident but alas there are side-effects. Almost all walkers suffer from literary paralysis; believing their sport to be worthwhile they’re fatally inclined to believe that any associated prose is also worthwhile. In most cases it isn’t. At best it’s worthy (list of depressing synonyms available on request) and at worst pedestrian (Hey! What the French call un jeux de mots).
You (singular or plural) have chosen to break away from this tradition. You have opted for levity, style and a touch of mystery and I salute you for these things. The advantage of a putty medal is there is no pin and thus no risk of bloodshed. True if I press too hard the recipient may topple over backwards but Hey! (a useful pointing word, but now retired) that’s all the more to write about. Disaster, providing you survive it, always makes for better copy.
Ave atque vale.
PS: Thumbs up for “deconstructed cheesecake”.
Speaking as someone who can claim a multiple Oscar winner in her family, I am speechless at this kind award. Well nearly speechless – here is our Blonde speech. We choose to receive our award wearing stunning Little Black Dresses (well medium ones) and slightly peaty walking boots.
We have discovered a new passion in the world of writing. We would like to thank our friends (solid and virtual), our families, each other and, maybe most of all, the youngsters with whom we are privileged to spend our days out walking.
Wear it in good health, B2. Perhaps some day a photo (from the neck down to preserve your anonymities) of those little-black-fragment dresses with the muddied boots. Now I must find a way of paying court to your symbiotic other without whom, I take it, you would merely one half of a pair of scissors.
Indeed, a pair of scissors is the perfect analogy. It is also, of course, a great title for a blog post.
I have tried many times this year (perhaps because at a certain age, you begin to realise that nothing lasts for ever) to imagine the Dartmoor half of my life without B1 – the simple truth is that I can’t.
We humbly thank you for our award. We are most grateful. However … are you sure that such a prestigious award can go to someone who eats such disgusting concoctions in a sandwich?!