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Cape May

Nothing Ever Happens On My Blog

Our bookshelves, ourselves

So if I told you the amount of mold on any given thing in my refrigerator you might not want to come over for dinner. Works for me. That means less hassle for me. There is a complicated calculus that I’ve worked out that allows mold and me to coexist. I’ll break it down for you:

 1)Oh, who cares about a little mold on a blackberry…strawberry…blueberry?

2) If I want to make brownies real bad and the coconut milk in the fridge shows some signs of weirdness, I’ll find a way to make it work.  It all gets baked, right?

3) Leaves live with it. Or die by it. Not my problem. Just breathe. There’s mold there, too.

4) What doesn’t kill us makes our insides gurgle.

5)If I need 1/2 cup grated cheddar cheese and the package has been opened and one clump within the package seems sort of fine and another one seems sort of green, I make an executive decision that is between me and my trash can. Somebody somewhere is selling Cheddar Blue at a Farmers’ Market.

6) Digestive juices need to earn their keep.