Anger Burger

You might have seen in the news that Southern California has been experiencing a record heatwave — I’m here to tell you it’s all true.

I’ve taken to walking the 2 miles to and then from work every day because it’s just the right distance for me to feel invigorated rather than tired, and also I’m a penny-pincher.  The thought of driving just two miles to work is embarrassing even for my lazy ass.

However, should the temperature rise above 100° Fahrenheit, all standards of decency are discarded.  I busted out the car, cranked up the air conditioner and rode in blissful self-largess until I got home and realized that I was still too hot and miserable even to make dinner.

Enter: European.

O blissful European.  That most bastardized and beloved of meals.  When I was young my parents called a simple, uncooked dinner of bread and/or crackers, fruit, cheese and maybe meat “European,” as though the only difference between us and backpackers in the south of France was our continent.  Better than calling it Freestyle Parenting Dinner, which is a legitimate alternative.  Or Unseasonal Heat Dinner, as in last night’s case.

I already had a loaf of bread lying around getting stale, so some fresh grapes, a salami mix and sliced Persian cucumbers built up the bulk of the meal.

In the past I’d create a salad caprice – layers of fresh tomato, basil and whole mozzarella dressed with vinegar and olive oil – but in the last few months I’m really starting to come to grips with what might have to be my final goodbye to tomatoes.

Years ago they didn’t bother me, much to the surprise of my Crohnies, each of whom couldn’t digest tomatoes any more than they could digest driveway gravel.  Eleven years after I was diagnosed with Crohn’s I am finally starting to understand, oooh, that’s what tomatoes do to you.  You’re not really enjoying your disease until a slice of fruit-vegetable makes you pray for death, that’s what I always say.  However, the only real impact?  No more salad caprice.  Or rather: turns out that salad caprice is pretty good even missing a primary ingredient.

At the last minute a boiled egg sounded good enough to suffer boiling a small pot of water (O, the humanity!) and all told, I think my body handled it pretty well.  Of course, I got stressed out about work all last night and this morning and then triggered a minor flare-up again, but fuck it.  Nothing a bottle of wine can’t make a lady forget.