We had a problem one night kn the kitchen at home. Wife and I. The lovely domestic slice of heaven got exposed to a form of hell in the reality of poverty expressed by a kitchen that was out of food for us to eat.
It was a sunday evening here and all the stores and eating places were closed.
My bobtail was sitting outside at the end of the gravel pad waiting to go out the next moring by sunrise. Memphis always chewed on my ass about showing up at noon on a monday morning ready to work.
The reason for that was usually FFE Memphis needed until at least noon to put together something for me to DO if I showed up at sunrise from 200 miles away as expected.
I went out to the bobtail and opened a closet in the sleeper. Dug out some food items. Walked back into the house and cooked it. It was not much in terms of portion sizes with the meal.
The sum total was one plate of spagetti, sauce, a bit of Parmesan and a couple chops of traditional french bread off a bakery the previous week. This is not the kind of bakery you had in your town neither. This is a industrial bakery with ovens bigger than our house.
Wife and I was to remember that single plate dinner with it's really desperate attempt to be a spagetti in the traditional down home style that momma used to make was quite a dinner. Made with love.
With a touch of anger at having to scrape so much to put together something for dinner in a town that had nothing on a sunday night. From that incident years ago we always made sure we can feed a tourbus should it pull up for dinner.