I'm sorry, I'm really really sorry. The five people who read this blog are rolling their eyes. Ugh, another Comet photo. Really, I am sorry. That corner is photo kryptonite for me. And I'm years away from getting a super photo of it.

The Comet Tavern, Capitol Hill, Seattle, August 2017.

The snow is coming down pretty hard (for Seattle). That's good. I hope it covers the ice well before melting off all at once. Love snow, hate ice.

I had a couple of chow hall eats posts to make, but they've passed me by. I guess I can include some notes.

I was at Whole Foods* the other day to grab a tin of Patagonia Provisions mussels (yea, I'm calling them out by name, and I'm going to see if they're hiring), and I stopped when I saw this bag that said "like cous-cous". Big map of Africa with the mid-Atlantic countries highlighted. I thought, ok graphic designers, you've hooked me, let's see if you can reel me in. Yolélé FONIO. Cooks in 5 minutes, gluten free. Hmmm, color me intrigued. (* QFC and Safeway - please add.)

Meet FONIO
Fonio is a tiny, nutritious, climate-smart ancient grain that has been prized across West Africa for over 5,000 years. It's light and fluffy and just a bit nutty.

Nutty? I'll say. It's weirdly versatile. I've only eaten it as a substitute for rice/quinoa/couscous, but it could easily be a substitute for grits or porridge. But like quinoa, you occasionally get one of those...pieces, kernels?...that didn't get the cooked memo and cracks so loudly you think, shit, I hope that was a kernel and not a tooth.

I'm a fan. Unfortunately, it's also reminded me that I need to get a proper dinner table. It's never too late, right? On my own, left to my pandemic solitude - I inhale my meals when not in polite company. I would cause an international scandal if seated at the Queen's table.

It's not just meals. I lack discipline when no one is watching. I love kefir (the yogurt drink) and fresh produce. But I can't be trusted with them at home. That healthy 6 ounces of kefir becomes an indulgent glug glug glug dessert. Tomatoes on the vine or that $3 bag of mandarins? Fuggedaboutit. You people who can stop at one, I hate you. I want to be you.

2 out of the 3 bulbs in my bedroom light died. I won't say how long ago. Time is a flat circle. I finally dragged the step ladder in there so I could remove them. A simple task made apocalyptic by yours truly. I have never liked ladders. I stepped up there and thought, no, put on your boots for a little extra reach.

I must have a fatalistic bent, a weird fear of being the next Darwin Awards "winner". I was up on that ladder or whatever you call it thinking, ok, this is how it ends. Some horrific, weird light bulb accident. How many Capitol Hillers does it take to change a light bulb? Two. This jackass and the taller First Responder.

Paramedic 1: Awful, just awful.

Paramedic 2: Yep. Tragedy. He probably would have made it if he'd just been a 1/2 inch taller. You know what they say, close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades.

Signing off. Goodnight. I hope you're doing well. I mean that. It's been a weird year-seems-like-a-decade. Darkest before the dawn and all. I think/hope we're seeing light at the end of the tunnel.