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Life revolves around food, lack of it

I came home from work the other day reminded anew that life revolves around food — or the lack thereof.

I’d been complaining to Better Half about the fact that the chicken cacciatore I’d made recently didn’t turn out so hot. It was no way near as good as it usually is, and that’s all because the tomatoes I’d used were store bought, canned ones.

Imposters!

They weren’t tomatoes grown and canned by Better Half himself, which is what I always use.

Regrettably, we were fresh out of those.

But fortunately, the tomato crop around the Kiaski garage was flourishing with Early Girls and Better Boys awaiting a date with Better Half, the stove, Mason jars and lids and all that other good stuff.

The canning session was in full swing in the Kiaski kitchen — and on one of the hottest days of the summer, naturally — when the phone rang.

It was my sister calling from Reynoldsburg to touch base in what are the typical sibling exchanges of what’s going on at her house vs. what’s going on at ours.

I let her go first.

Much of the conversation revolved around a grim food situation.

In a show of daughterly support, my sister was participating in one of those 10-day food detox, clean-out-your-system commitments, and her husband had jumped on board with the program as well.

That sounded like a good plan — have three people suffering instead of just one.

She drew some immediate conclusions from this, including mealtime wasn’t much to look forward to, unless a great big glass of green stuff is your kind of breakfast, lunch and dinner.

She’d also noticed that social plans were being impacted. You don’t meet friends for a bite to eat or even go out for a cup of coffee, also a no-no.

Yikes. Color me nasty on that plan.

And 10 days that normally would fly by were taking the l-o-n-g, scenic walking route instead, all in the name of getting energized and whatever.

Meanwhile, my brother-in-law was a sad man, the grill rendered inactive.

I listened with interest and intensity as I enjoyed a banana Popsicle.

Then it was my turn to bring my sister up to speed on the news, but I couldn’t think of a food-free topic.

I thought it best not to bring up the subject of my chicken cacciatore, which she really likes, and I didn’t tell her anything about 90 tomatoes becoming 10 quarts of future chicken cacciatore sauce or the makings of other delightful dishes, thanks to Better Half’s canning session.

And I didn’t have the heart to tell her about all the fresh corn on the cob that our considerate cousins Ronnie and Denny had left on the back porch — the peaches and cream and silver queen variety.

I didn’t want to be responsible for her starting to hallucinate or anything.

That wouldn’t have been prudent.

Our conversation was brief, but I promised to talk to her soon — in about 11 days.

(Kiaski, a resident of Richmond, is a staff columnist and features writer for the Herald-Star and The Weirton Daily Times and community editor for the Herald-Star. She can be contacted at jkiaski@heraldstaronline.com.)

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