……..or Watch Out B’ys, She’s Gonna Blow.
It’s Boxing Day. No need to wish anyone a ‘happy’ or ‘merry’ boxing day, it just is, that’s all. I like to think that it is the day that Christmas goes back in the box for another year, but traditionally that is on January 6th, Old Christmas Day. Boxing Day goes back to the olden days in Britain when the gentry would pack up their left-overs from their extravagant Christmas (good Lord, how tired am I of writing the word Christmas) dinners and distribute them to the less fortunate. Now I would just love to pass on that tattered carcass of roast fowl (not turkey) but you can’t do that anymore what with all the nut allergies and risk of food poisoning (no joke, here in this humid place. Back in my home country I could leave the stock pot out all night and skim the hardened fat in the morning; take it out just like a greasy Frisbee. Here in Florida, once your turn off the burner the pot liquor continues to boil for three hours and then just sits and festers. I digress) I don’t really need any of those left-overs for myself anyway. All night the corn-bread stuffing and gravy sang the Hallelujah chorus in my stomach. The only way I could shut it up this morning was to throw cinnamon buns at it (and an egg because, yes girls, we gotta have the protein with our carbs). It worked until lunch-time when the howling only subsided after I force-fed myself a chicken and cranberry/cherry sauce (thanks Mike Benson for the recipe) sandwich and a handful of cookies. As any unfortunate who is addicted to seriously heavy drugs knows, you either have to go cold turkey or up the dose. Like I said, I don’t do turkey.
A little exercise might be the ticket. It will have to be biking as it is 80° again and even higher humidity with not a breath of moving air. At least on the bike you can create your own breeze. Then I can stop feeling guilty about the excess and sit down and start my boxing day puzzle. A thrift store purchase, of course, but still in the wrapper so I don’t have to suffer “missing piece anxiety.”
I didn’t get too far on the bicycle. Just proved to myself that I can make it to the supermarket and back (we needed milk but it would have been yoghurt by the time I got home) Not much to see along the way other than road kill: one dead raccoon so fresh yet that the turkey buzzards hadn’t started circling and one sad little songbird which almost caused me to crash because I would be traumatized for days if I had run over it. I passed this sign which you won’t find anywhere in Liverpool (England or Nova Scotia)
Here’s the recipe for the salsa I put on my morning egg. I made it for snacking on Christmas Day but who had time to snack when there was a scoff to be prepared?
1 ripe mango, chopped
1/2 cup red bell pepper, finally chopped
2 green onions, finely chopped
chopped cilantro to taste (about 3 TBLs)
1 TBLs fresh lime juice
2 tsp olive oil
2-3 slices of jalapeno from a jar, chopped
Combine and chill 1/2 hour
Now can I please put the tacky Christmas sweaters back it the box?? Pleeease, even the ones I haven’t shown? Aw, come on…..
© Judy Parsons 2015