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desperanceIn an age-old solution to a twenty-first century problem - oh noes, my machinery is broken! - Morgan's family have lent us their KitchenAid, and taken ours away to poke about in its interior and see what's what. This just in: people are lovely.
Also, Morgan is Nearly Two. She told me so.
We are late and slow this morning, can't think why: but the other machineries are doing the first round of post-party clean-up; the wife is napping in her chair, yay; and I am off to the farmers' market to see what's what. Weirdly, there is almost no food left from yesterday. People ate it. People: lovely, but incomprehensible. (Apart from the chilli in the six-quart pot, and three rounds of bread buns through the day, I mostly made my favourite grilling thing, a vasty chunk of pork smoked slowly for hours'n'hours. There is precious little even of that left, hey-ho.)
Also, Morgan is Nearly Two. She told me so.
We are late and slow this morning, can't think why: but the other machineries are doing the first round of post-party clean-up; the wife is napping in her chair, yay; and I am off to the farmers' market to see what's what. Weirdly, there is almost no food left from yesterday. People ate it. People: lovely, but incomprehensible. (Apart from the chilli in the six-quart pot, and three rounds of bread buns through the day, I mostly made my favourite grilling thing, a vasty chunk of pork smoked slowly for hours'n'hours. There is precious little even of that left, hey-ho.)