I'm pretty sure we are going to burn down a hotel at some point. We have a 1000 watt hot plate, which sounds like a lot of watts, but I think it isn't really enough to cook food--just enough to light up the drapes. Yesterday we stopped at this fantastic real food grocery in Eureka. It may be the only bastion of good health in a town seemingly crawling with tweakers. I know that's not fair, and a drive-through of a town is never an accurate representation of its true character. I'm sure Stepford is lovely this time of year and is aglow with holiday twinkle and the warm scent of spiced treats.
Anyway, we have the wok, the hotplate, and after a trip to the grocery, a cooler full of wholesome deliciousness, including, but not limited to, ruby red grapefruit, spinach, wakame, oranges, bananas, pastured chicken bits, grass-fed ground beef, miso, avocados, Japanese yams (which are like cake. I LOVE CAKE), Thai curry paste (don't judge, Holly--I'm not hunting down and grinding up shallots, lemongrass, ginger, garlic, and galangal on the road), and some remaining scallion butts from the Oregon market. Not all of these things went into the wok, but chicken, spinach, scallions, and Thai seasonings did. The rest will find their way into our mouths soon enough.
When we worked in technology, I made endless, beautiful process flows that made perfect logical sense. The joke was that I invested nothing in the content. My job was to make it pretty and hopefully organize the information in such a way as to appear meaningful. Ben's job was to supply actual meaningful content, and let someone else concern herself with its visual presentation, with filtering and arranging and making the artifacts show-ready. As we shed old skins, the irony of our current arrangement is not lost on us. Make it pretty, Ben. If you can't make it mean anything, at least make it pretty.
Also, will you please post a photo of our coffee mugs?
Billy takes the South
