A Dash of Veruca Salt
We had a family dinner last night, multigenerational even. My grandparents and parents and my sister and all our kids. It was 4 generations of chaos and calm for a few brief minutes at one table. Dinner conversation was certainly polite. It started with poop. I swear there is not a meal that goes by in my immediate family that doesn't include some potty talk. Maybe it's because we have young children....or maybe it's because I'm a nurse. Regardless, we moved from the bottom of the bum as we filled our stomachs to chatting about matters of the heart. We speculated about a recent family member's untimely death and pondered mortality for some odd seconds then got to the nitty gritty mid-garlic bread. It was deliciously covered in mozzerella and spice and butter and salt. Cut to the asparagus, bathed in olive oil and parmesan and garlic, and of course...salt. My grandma clucked at her husband and chided a bit about the sodium, I guess he loves it a little. And don