So yesterday, I made what Edward P. Jones' character Cassandra called "a death mistake." I wandered off and left Paul alone in the kitchen.
Red quinoa, oats, turmeric, chili, lemon curry, and salt all over. It's that brown and white stuff you see all over the cookbooks and counters behind him. He was awfully pleased with his culinary masterpiece. To complete the meal, he whipped up an omelette on the floor while my back was turned cleaning up the entree. (What was I thinking, turning my back on him AGAIN?) While I cleaned that up, he climbed the desk in the kitchen. Thwarted too many times in too short a time span, he screamed his little head off and then passed out for an early nap. Exhausting work, that.
Quinoa is a tiny grain. I'll be finding it 'til kingdom come. But isn't he something? What a handsome little devil, and how satisfied he is to have accomplished that task!