Season to taste...

The following story took place last Sunday. Chances are I will draw out this story much longer than it needs to be. We decided to have chicken noodle soup and homemade French bread for dinner. I know what you're thinking: that's a menu better eaten in January than August. But why let seasons (or heat) dictate what we eat? Why?! By the way, sometimes in January, I want fresh-from-the-garden tomatoes on a BLT. I don't usually get that.

We also wanted to go on a Sunday drive and walk in at Silver Lake in Big Cottonwood Canyon. We couldn't leave until later because Christopher had commitments to home teach and practice with the ward choir and such. The plan was that we would go on our little adventure and then come home and make the glorious supper.

Before we left, I made the bread, as instructed by my husband. It was just rising to perfection when my parents came home. They had attended, I think, three (3!) Sacrament Meetings as full-time missionaries and decided that was enough. I asked my mom to finish the bread so we could leave. She said yes. (This works out best for everyone since my mom makes everything taste better and look prettier.)

We drove to the mountains and had a pleasant and peaceful walk around the lake. I may post pictures later if anyone expresses interest. We were leaving the lake and still had to drive home and it was already past 5:30. We eat on a schedule, not overly strict, but still, it's better for the overall health of the household. I thought that my parents would be at home STARVING and thinking, "We could just make the soup, but then we would be stealing Chris' thunder, not to mention his creative cooking outlet. We should just wait. Wait and starve." I tried to call to tell them to go ahead and cook dinner, but there was no phone reception right there. T-Mobile, you know. So, we drove home.

We got home to find that my parents had made dinner! The table was set! They were waiting for us! Which was a great surprise because we were hungry!

When my mom cooks, she uses slightly less salt and pepper and other seasonings than my sweet (and spicy) husband. My dad decided to make sure their milder soup was still suited to Chris' tastes. So, this is how we found Chris' place setting:

It wasn't enough to put salt and pepper near his bowl. They pulled out many spices, including cinnamon and vanilla. Ha ha. I thought it was funny.

And now, for your entertainment, I will quote from an episode of the t.v. show Psych, wherein Shawn and Gus eat dinner with a lovely family from India.

Raj: "You know, guys, my grandmother tends to make her food a little spicy. You might want to take it easy."

Gus: [laughs] Please! I'm one quarter Jamaican.

Shawn: I'm also one quarter Jamaican.

Gus: You are not. Stop telling people that.

Shawn: [to Raj's grandmother] I'm sorry, was this chicken seasoned with molten lava?

Shawn: [Crying slightly from the spice.] Dude, I can't see anything out of my left eye.
Gus: I see dead people.
[Both drink some water]
Shawn: My [goodness], even the water's spicy.
Gus: Who does that?

It's funnier on t.v.