Having a depression era grandmother who saved drawers full of string and tin foil, this isn't cool.
It is at this point that Liv usually chimes in, "Well, you could make banana bread." The banana bread is misnamed, it should be called banana cake. It is that sugary and delicious. This week when it happened again, this banana scam, I decided to cave. I figured if I was going to rock their little worlds with the surgery next week, well I could be the nice mom and make banana bread, cake, whatever. When they come to me in 20 years needing therapy for the reason du jour I fully intend to say, "Yes, I know you are traumatized, but remember when I made you banana bread?". Then we will laugh together and they will drop the therapy discussion.
As I was making banana bread, cake this morning I took a good long look at the nutmeg that was going into the bowl.
Looks downright vintage right? I turned the tin, yes it is a tin, not a plastic container looking for an expiration date. There is none. On the bottom there is only this.
When was the last time nutmeg cost 0.59? I'm afraid to google it. I have been using antique nutmeg, to feed children. Can I tell you there is still plenty of nutmeg in the tin too?
So, here it is, banana bread/cake, whatever made with vintage nutmeg. You thought I was going to say I went right to the store and bought a new plastic container of nutmeg didn't you?
Chloe is my constant companion in the kitchen. Not because she loves her person (that's me) so very much. I am a messy cook, and she feels it's her duty to lick up messes on the floor. Had I met Chloe before she had already been named, her name would be Hoover.
She tried to wrangle a banana peel from the trash can. She looks like a guilty mug doesn't she?
Some women get their breasts professionally photographed before mastectomy surgery. I bake banana bread/cake, whatever. I will leave you with a photograph. I feel it can sum up my last post before surgery, toes painted bright pink in honor of breast cancer survival and difficult choices we women make in our lives? No, toes painted the darkest shade of bad ass purple you can get in an Opi bottle. Toes that say, you can't knock me down. I will survive for my banana eating kids long enough for them to be cajoled into making surgary banana bread for their own kids.
See everyone on the flip side. I will try to resist the temptation to blog on the good drugs.
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