I feel thoroughly uninspired today.
Saturday we had hamburgers for lunch and I worked at a hot dog stand in the evening. Both the burgers and the dogs were made of chicken, of course. Joie prepared the burgers with a beef bullion cube and I trekked to the top of the mountain to invest in a small bottle of French's Yellow Mustard, real from the States. The store at the top is run by a fellow named Prakash and the sign outside says "Prakash's for all your needs". Indeed, the man has a plethora of imported goods, as well as a few imported bads.
When I returned, I started a fire in our back yard and gave the burgers that black crusty coating that can only be applied by a fire full of varnished fragments of junked furniture. The school sells us firewood that comes with a history. We live in a forest, but so do a few thousand other people, most of whom cook every day over a wood fire. Firewood is a rare find. I mangled the rack from our brand new oven in the process, but the hamburgers turned out. Between the mustard and the ashes, we could almost imagine it was beef.
The hot dogs were less satisfying.