Good Friday

Breakfast this morning was a plate of scrambled eggs with tarragon, prepared for me by my boyfriend. At lunchtime, I had some cold pasta with salt and a bit of Tabasco. I had dessert with lunch – a bit of quark (non-fat soft cheese) mixed with a spoonful of Splenda (sugar substitute), eaten with orange segments. I suppose I should feel bad about eating fake sugar, but like Dagny Taggart, I am not capable of feeling an unearned guilt – or, more accurately, a petty guilt.

Dinner tonight was with my boyfriend’s parents (he was off at Tim Evans’ monthly Putney Debates). His father is a big fan of fish, so must have been salivating in anticipation of Good Friday for some time. For tonight’s meal, we had huge sardines, lightly floured and then fried with some onions and sprinkled liberally with lemon juice and fresh parsley. (My boyfriend prefers them spread with a bit of mustard and then grilled.) We had with this boiled potatoes – I threw some capers, salt, pepper, and lemon juice over mine – plus broccoli and then the usual salad course. During the cheese course, I paired my chevre with a few preserved figs, brought back from the trees on the family homestead in Upaix, Provence. After all this, I then had a handful of strawberries.

I like fish, but I really do not like boning it. I am not nearly co-ordinated enough to do so gracefully or terribly successfully, and I feel bad about leaving so much flesh on the wispy bones. (I obviously have a long way to go before I am anywhere near Dagny Taggart when it comes to unearned or petty guilt.)

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