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Joining the incendiary food blog mentioned by perigee.
It's 11:45 and so far today I've eaten :
1 French cruller (I wanted the glazed, but green_trilobite ate it by mistake);
1 large coffee, double-double;
small indeterminate amount of water.
I have given the cats more kibble than I should because otherwise the little one wails and the big one claws green_trilobite's scalp and makes him scream.
My NaNoWriMo characters have already had breakfast, lunch and dinner:
Feeling more human, Amanda ventured into the kitchen, where Victor was holding the freezer door open and contemplating a box of frozen waffles. He looked over at her with relief visible on his face, and perhaps a tincture of shyness as well.
“Feeling better?” She nodded.
“Thanks for the pain-killers. Where - where are we?”
“My place; my real place, I mean. I hardly ever come here, but it’s safe for that reason; no one else kows about it. I’m afraid you’ll have to make do with evaporated milk as a result. I do have a pretty good assortment of frozen foods, though. What would you like for breakfast?”
“Those waffles you’re holding will do.”
“There are sausage patties too.”
Amanda laughed.
“This has to be the most domesticated lair ever.”
“Ah - you’ve figured out my terrible secret.”
There was coffee as well, and the evaporated milk proved perfectly adequate. Amanda looked around at Victor’s house curiously, the sheer ordinaryness making her wonder if she was still unconscious and dreaming. After breakfast she showered, luxuriously, and took advantage of the washing machine in her basement to remove the dirt, sweat and bloodstains she’d noticed on her costume (“use the cold setting,” Victor advised, “hot’s not good for lycra”). Victor went away for an hour, asking if he could get her anything, and came back in a different car, bringing casual clothes and some cartons of milk and fruit juice. She spent the afternoon looking at technical manuals, of which the place had many, while he built some arcane device on the kitchen counter, humming along with the radio which was tuned to an oldies station. From time to time they stopped and had coffee or juice. Despite their dire circumstances Amanda thought she’d never seen him so happy, not realizing that for Victor this was all pretty much life as usual, except he’d never had a companion before, and that was the reason for his good mood.
Towards evening Victor said, “Let’s be daring - pizza, Thai or Chinese?” and picked up the house phone.
“Is that really a good idea?”
“Well, this is supposed to be an ordinary suburban house, ansd I’m the owner - if anything it’ll help our cover.”
“Good point. Chinese, then.” The rest of the conversation consisted of the usual discussion of whether to order rice or noodles or one of each, whether either of them really wanted soup and if so, whether they should get hot and sour or wonton.
It's 11:45 and so far today I've eaten :
1 French cruller (I wanted the glazed, but green_trilobite ate it by mistake);
1 large coffee, double-double;
small indeterminate amount of water.
I have given the cats more kibble than I should because otherwise the little one wails and the big one claws green_trilobite's scalp and makes him scream.
My NaNoWriMo characters have already had breakfast, lunch and dinner:
Feeling more human, Amanda ventured into the kitchen, where Victor was holding the freezer door open and contemplating a box of frozen waffles. He looked over at her with relief visible on his face, and perhaps a tincture of shyness as well.
“Feeling better?” She nodded.
“Thanks for the pain-killers. Where - where are we?”
“My place; my real place, I mean. I hardly ever come here, but it’s safe for that reason; no one else kows about it. I’m afraid you’ll have to make do with evaporated milk as a result. I do have a pretty good assortment of frozen foods, though. What would you like for breakfast?”
“Those waffles you’re holding will do.”
“There are sausage patties too.”
Amanda laughed.
“This has to be the most domesticated lair ever.”
“Ah - you’ve figured out my terrible secret.”
There was coffee as well, and the evaporated milk proved perfectly adequate. Amanda looked around at Victor’s house curiously, the sheer ordinaryness making her wonder if she was still unconscious and dreaming. After breakfast she showered, luxuriously, and took advantage of the washing machine in her basement to remove the dirt, sweat and bloodstains she’d noticed on her costume (“use the cold setting,” Victor advised, “hot’s not good for lycra”). Victor went away for an hour, asking if he could get her anything, and came back in a different car, bringing casual clothes and some cartons of milk and fruit juice. She spent the afternoon looking at technical manuals, of which the place had many, while he built some arcane device on the kitchen counter, humming along with the radio which was tuned to an oldies station. From time to time they stopped and had coffee or juice. Despite their dire circumstances Amanda thought she’d never seen him so happy, not realizing that for Victor this was all pretty much life as usual, except he’d never had a companion before, and that was the reason for his good mood.
Towards evening Victor said, “Let’s be daring - pizza, Thai or Chinese?” and picked up the house phone.
“Is that really a good idea?”
“Well, this is supposed to be an ordinary suburban house, ansd I’m the owner - if anything it’ll help our cover.”
“Good point. Chinese, then.” The rest of the conversation consisted of the usual discussion of whether to order rice or noodles or one of each, whether either of them really wanted soup and if so, whether they should get hot and sour or wonton.
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