At the top of Aasgard Pass, we turn to take in the view. My son fires up the little stove and makes us a hot breakfast, just as the first golden fingers of sunlight touch the dark jewel of Colchuck Lake.
I inhale the scent of his apple-cinnamon oatmeal, then stare glumly down into my own bowl, where dried cauliflower, crunchy yet oily, swirls in the hot water with wizened carrot strips like fossilized twigs. I stir, I wait, I let them soak ’til the water is tepid, but still they go down like leather shoelaces. And that internet blogger who extolled cauliflower dried with oil and sprinkled with brewer’s yeast — it’s lucky for both of us she’s not here right now, that’s all I’m saying.
How did I end up here — not Aasgard, I mean this lumpy, greasy mess in my bowl?
I was recently diagnosed with… read more at GoodLife’s blog.
I think that what you published made a lott of sense. Leah Arlen Sunil