bye bye, l.c.

In Isaac Bashevis Singer's short story Gimpel The Fool, it is said that everything happens because whatever does not exist in the day is being dreamed of at night.

The other night I dreamed I was skinny and famished, which of course is far from true. Not only am I chunky, my cholesterol level is close to the roof because everything that is four-legged, dish-wise, was fair game to me. Was.

My doctor had just issued my quasi-death warrant. No more red meat. Which means I can no longer indulge in the one dish that I always picked everytime somebody else was paying: lamb chops.

Whenever I visited my mom, she always prepared a plate of medium rare grilled or broiled lamb chops for me, with my favorite mint sauce, and with a side of buttered boiled corn (pictured)- and which combination made any wine that would have tasted awful on any other night become drop dead gorgeous.

She learned of my condition, and so when I gave her company Saturday night she served me crackers with salmon dressing and orange juice. Ouch. That was my tummy speaking.

Of course mommies, and doctors, know best. I can't have it my way, or otherwise I'd end up as, what? cbs the fool?