I'm irritated at myself tonight that my sloth and exhaustion got the best of me. Granted, it's been a long week, but I have a whole bunch of fresh basil (cheap at the local asian market!), canned tomatoes and other mixings for a great, simple pasta, risotto or something along those lines. Instead we went out to a local mexican place, dropped fifty bucks on a couple of margaritas and some mediocre food. Tequila was worth it, the pound and a half of cheese in my chiles poblanos, not so much. One of my favorite things about our farm share is it typically guilts me into cooking. The Irish Catholic genes are good for many things, and guilt is high on the list. I look at a big box of veggies that will go bad if not used and I force myself to cook. Or I force my boyfriend to cook. Either way, we're usually happier with our meal, know where it came from, and we save a bunch of cash. I can't wait for June and our first delivery.
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