Say, can you see?

Dear Food Diary,

Why yes, those are home-fried cheese curds and french fries.

They Can Only Do Harm.

Dear Food Diary,

This weekend I turned 30.  I had planned on complaining about it to you long and loud... but now that I'm at it I find I don't have the energy.  Yikes.  That's probably a bad sign for what's left of my youthful vigor.  On the bright side: if 30 marks the death of my youth, at least the cake was good at the funeral.

Sunday we ate at home. 

I made steak and scallops.  Sarah created a vaguely asian "what the hell is in this (in a good way)" salad, and a vanilla vodka-infused berry/mint/lime dessert.  Since you probably wouldn't be able to get to sleep without knowing (and joylessly analyzing) what was in that salad, stupid asshole Food Diary, I'll tell you:
    a Granny Smith apple
    a carrot
    a parsnip
    dried cranberries
    cilantro
    honey
    rice wine vinegar
    salt and pepper

See?  It was the very picture of healthful side-dishery.

Speaking of pictures -- then we had two Byerly's desserts.

I know and I don't care.

Monday, we both took the day off and returned to the Arboretum (again) so Sarah could take some more awesome pictures. 

To summarize:  Now I'm practically ancient, I eat too much meat and sugar (and fat), and I'm too tired to even complain about it.   Life is good.

Your (old) buddy,

Matt