Fish! Fishes, fishes, tasty tasty fisheses...
And naturally my son comes into the kitchen and snarks about how I'm MURDERING the poor innocent fish. It's the sad bulgy fish eyes gaping up at us, isn't it? Even though he'll eat fish when it's decently chopped up into fillets or fish sticks, he totally refused the lovely delicious clear-steamed trout (complete with heads, of course). And so did my older daughter. I feel so rejected. Bah!
No, seriously, I love steamed trout. Fresh whole trout (a bit of lemon juice squeezed inside in case it wasn't cleaned properly and has some bitterness near the head), steamed for about 25 minutes (I can even fit two of them in a pan on a rack, so no need to break out the big steamer), then drizzled with a mix of (heated) oil, soy sauce, scallions (chopped up), and ginger shreds.
Yeah. I should pad my NaNo this year with food pr0n. There must be some kind of cosmic horror lurking in the Old Bay seasoning. Doesn't it sound suspicious to you? Especially when they start pushing the Old Bay flavored potato chips. And the Sriracha sauce (the one with the chicken on the bottle). EEEEEEEEVIL! Evil from the dawn of time!
No, my NaNo is doomed.
A week before November 1, and my so-called plot is already meandering off into directions I didn't want to write about. One thing led to another and now my character has to recover from a years-long magically-induced vegetative state, deal with a shitload of paperwork, get proper ID, learn to drive (I hope), do years of remedial education (ghost memories from other universes aren't an adequate substitute!), get a job, and oh yeah, save the earth from the latest demonic incursion.
What is this latest incursion, anyway?
Not to mention the one after that, the one after that, and the one after that...
Something food-related, I hope.