Chow

Feed people.  This is what I do.

To feed I must cook, and to cook I must shop.  In the summer, grocery shopping becomes both art and science.  After exiting the second supermarket of the day this afternoon, I idled the car in the parking lot and reviewed my cumulative, extensive purchases.  Did I have everything? Chips Ahoy for the grandkids – check.  M&M’s for the potty-trainee – check.  Organic spinach for Grampa and me – check.  Mocha Latte for the coffee connoisseur arriving on Friday – check.

Tonight we had lake fish for dinner.  After chowing down the crispy critters with gusto, our two visiting 10-year-old grand-boys slurped down ice cream cones before launching the fishing boat with Grampa - to replenish our supply of fish, of course.  You can never have enough fried fish when these two are here, and from my perspective, it’s free food.  They returned carrying a stringer with slimy gilled, finned Actinopterygii (the official name for bony fish, such a cool sounding name - whether or not it is accurate in this case is undetermined), and celebrated their catch by noshing on s’mores around a campfire followed by popcorn in front of a movie. 

I feed people, like these endearing fishermen.  This is what I do.