Cooking in Any Other Language

I was just having a message chat with a woman in Italy who is a friend of a friend.  Fulvia wrote as her Facebook status that she was home from vacation in Zanzibar and now she was going to have to purchase and prepare her own food.

I just laughed.  Some issues know no international boundaries.  I felt exactly the same way last week.

Even though Fulvia is probably wandering around her market in Italy today, and I was wandering around the cavernous mega grocery last week, the feeling is very much the same.

We’re home.  Where’s the menu?  And the clean towels?  And I have to make my own bed??

Aw . . . but here, too, is Fritz T, our dog. And the Grandpas and the Grandmas.  Here is the yogurt we like.  Here is our coffee.  Here is a pillow with just the right fluffiness.

Here is our routine and all that is familiar.


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