Bleu d’Anjou

A tick of the long hand on the prandium dial—tonight I pr’ined* on Danish bleu and d’Anjou pears—though is a week plus overdue for the treat. A bag of Seckles and Bartletts i’d picked at 114th Greenmarket were never recovered me by a friend. Conveniently he & missus whisked them out of site during a Sunday visit and then only the feeblest attempts at letting me claim them. They are indeed thiefs and beleaf it was an intentional act. He knew the capear’d wind up in words somewhere. Sneaky like that he is.

So tonight my prandium shifts gears and begin biting again on beloved bleu and pears. Simple and delightful bliss. Too much will incite a wretched gut, but First Night a little gorge is due. It has been a year past since last I bit. Quite a lot of energy is in circulation nowadays, and am riding on the leaner end of my scale.

Wansink tricked me with his Mindless Eating. It was the red beans mention. But my beans, they do get better by the day. Yummness. You wish you were eating them. Heck. I’ll agree to meat in midtown at lunchtime and sell a spoonful for a dollar. I’ll even serve it on a metal spoon—to frakk with plastic. I had a spoon as intermezzo to my pears and bleu. It is worth a dollar.

*You see where I’m going with the convention—pr’.

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