Yesterday was a long day. I got to work early, stayed late. I ran interference, demurred, cajoled, led, prompted, sighed and try to align the hours in the day to the ever increasing to-do list. Gym plans? Nixxed. Getting home with daylight remaining? Nope. Calling my friend back for a leisurely catch up? Not even.
For one reason or another, I haven’t walked in the door until nearly 8pm every night this week. Which means I’m hungry, cranky and tired. And last night it was my turn to cook. Normally I’d round up a cart full of groceries earlier in the week and be down to the creative recipes by Thursday night, but we’re leaving town today for 4 days and who wants to come home to a $5 bag of organic lettuce turned to slime? Our cabinets contained ramen noodles, butternut squash sauce, goat cheese and a lemon.
Solution: Whole Foods. Yes, I am aware of the backlash regarding their high prices, the touted elitism of shopping in their stores, and the exacerbation of racial and class disparities their stores highlight. But I am a single, professional adult living with another single, professional adult (Hello DINK) and I choose where to spend my money. And their food tastes good.
I wanted something easy and healthy, and settled on a menu of:
– Tequila-lime salmon
– sautéed asparagus with garlic, salt and lemon juice
– 90-second Brown rice quinoa blend
– $5.99 bottle of white wine that was not memorable but very drinkable
– Fistful of chocolate chips (Okay, I already had these at home)
Within 20 minutes, the food was cooked and plated and I was plopped on the couch, just in time for me to get it on with Grey’s Anatomy and Private Practice. Which brings me to my point: sometimes I wish I had a private chef.