Thursday, November 15, 2007

Back in B.R.A.T.

Oy. The funny stripes in the picture are from the rain, streaking down. All of the wet roofs turned a milky pewter; the water running down the roofs reflected the dim light of the mid-afternoon. It's pretty, in its own chill, sodden way, but it's driving me to hit my chocolate stash. Heavily. We'll see if my pants still fit when 2008 arrives.
We’re in bland food central here. When I feel lousy (unless I have the flu), what I want is spicy, zesty food. There’s something about the heat-filled tang of chile verde, or a piquant tortilla soup, or penne all’arrabbiata or a thai curry that is far more soothing to me than a plain chicken soup. It's not that I don't like a simple chicken soup; the one we had the other night was lovely. But the foods that perk me up when I'm feeling low usually have a nice, zippy bite.

However, I am usually the only one in my house who feels that way.

I knew, early this morning, that I would be making the kids a blaaaand dinner. Curly relapsed a little (she mostly just needed to rest up. And eat bland stuff) in the wee hours, and we kept her home from school. I had her lie down, and sang to her. We played cards. We looked at a large number of very sparkly shoes online, with her in my lap, getting lots of kisses. By the time school let out, she was feeling pretty sparky again.

And then her brother came home, pretty cheerful, and… started to complain of a headache. And then of his eyes aching. And then I checked his temperature. Which was 102.We’re back in B.R.A.T., folks (that would be Bananas, Rice, Applesauce, Toast). Technically, I’m breaking the brat rules. Curly is about to mutiny if she has to have toast or totally plain rice one more time, and I can’t blame her (I'm getting tired of cooking it, and I'm not eating it every time). So I’m making a risotto bianco (using canned, watered-down chicken broth, thank you very much), and serving my boy his portion before I beat in the butter and cheese. He’ll be bummed that he doesn’t get cheese, but I bet his stomach will thank me.
And as I repeatedly hit the chocolate stash (current selections in it pictured above), I am nervously eyeing my sick boy, and my upcoming hockey tournament and hoping that I don't have to bail.

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