(no subject)
Debbie doesn't know what's crazier: all the shit that went down yesterday or the fact that it all disappeared just like that. Or maybe it's the fact that more people didn't die than did. She doesn't know numbers. A part of her doesn't want to know numbers. She wants to know names and wants to know that they'll be remembered, that they'll be a service, that their bodies (if there are any) will be shown respect. But she can't think about it right that second.
It may look like the day after doomsday out there, but that just means it's the first day of clean up after doomsday. And even in terrible times, people need to eat. In fact, people should eat. And more. Which is why Debbie's in the kitchen, making a feast out of what she has at hand, ignoring whatever's going on across the hall to clean up after those giant thimble things. Thankfully the little fuckers didn't mess with the refrigeration system.
Debbie feels like they need something to liven up the day, something to make everything not seem so bad. So fresh fruit is on the menu. Sure, some of the garden got trampled over in all the madness yesterday, but it didn't get completely razed to the ground or anything terrible. There's always a silver lining. So there's a huge pot of pasta primavera with tomatoes, broccoli, carrots, onions, eggplant, celery, and garlic, rosemary and basil. She also makes something of a rice casserole stuffing... thing. It's got rice and celery and carrot and onion with chicken broth and bread cubes and spices, and all that Debbie really cares about is that it smells good. Just for the hell of it, she whips up some mashed potatoes too, throwing bits of garlic in to give it a kick. And since there's plenty of carbs, but not much in protein, she makes something called spinach brownies: spinach and mozzarella baked into little squares, with some flour and egg to hold it together. With some elbow grease, Debbie manages to make some whipped cream out of the cream they have, flavors it with some vanilla bean, and then sets out some strawberries, blueberries and canned peaches for people to eat with them. Lastly, she throws together a rhubarb crumble pie, and the scent of cinnamon bombards her as she pulled it out of the oven.
"If this doesn't cheer people up," she murmurs, then stops to think of how to finish that sentence. "Well, shit, we all need Prozac."
[Meal post, because even the beaten need to eat. :) Tag Debbie, tag each other. Slow time and late tags are my friends. Especially since I'm still at work.]
It may look like the day after doomsday out there, but that just means it's the first day of clean up after doomsday. And even in terrible times, people need to eat. In fact, people should eat. And more. Which is why Debbie's in the kitchen, making a feast out of what she has at hand, ignoring whatever's going on across the hall to clean up after those giant thimble things. Thankfully the little fuckers didn't mess with the refrigeration system.
Debbie feels like they need something to liven up the day, something to make everything not seem so bad. So fresh fruit is on the menu. Sure, some of the garden got trampled over in all the madness yesterday, but it didn't get completely razed to the ground or anything terrible. There's always a silver lining. So there's a huge pot of pasta primavera with tomatoes, broccoli, carrots, onions, eggplant, celery, and garlic, rosemary and basil. She also makes something of a rice casserole stuffing... thing. It's got rice and celery and carrot and onion with chicken broth and bread cubes and spices, and all that Debbie really cares about is that it smells good. Just for the hell of it, she whips up some mashed potatoes too, throwing bits of garlic in to give it a kick. And since there's plenty of carbs, but not much in protein, she makes something called spinach brownies: spinach and mozzarella baked into little squares, with some flour and egg to hold it together. With some elbow grease, Debbie manages to make some whipped cream out of the cream they have, flavors it with some vanilla bean, and then sets out some strawberries, blueberries and canned peaches for people to eat with them. Lastly, she throws together a rhubarb crumble pie, and the scent of cinnamon bombards her as she pulled it out of the oven.
"If this doesn't cheer people up," she murmurs, then stops to think of how to finish that sentence. "Well, shit, we all need Prozac."
[Meal post, because even the beaten need to eat. :) Tag Debbie, tag each other. Slow time and late tags are my friends. Especially since I'm still at work.]