Missing Dut

Dut really loved going to the Mullica Hill Amish Farm Market.  Our typical visit always included lunch.  Today she would have definitely opted to try out the newly renovated Miriam’s Country Kitchen.  I didn’t go into the updated restaurant, although it was lunchtime.  The memories of sister-shared kettle chips are still too painful. Dut, I wonder if they still serve your favorite sandwich: chicken with deep fried mozzarella sticks, fries and oozy, drippy melted Velveeta cheese, all layered high, on a round kaiser roll the size of a melon.

It used to take us a couple of hours to wander through the shops and vendors, talking laughing, munching free samples.  Today I was in and out in a sad half an hour.  I bought peaches and bananas from the produce shop, and popped rice cakes, whole-wheat pasta and peanut butter filled pretzels (for Joey) from the pantry store.  For dinner tonight (from Yoder's BBQ) I picked up some prepared slow cooked pot roast and mashed potatoes for the men and a rotisserie chicken breast for little old Weight Watcher me.  I’ll make a green salad to go with both meals.

But, uh, oh, a forbidden stop at the donut counter beckoned.  After waiting in the long line of people who all knew they probably shouldn’t be there (believe me, I am all too familiar with that guilty look),  I bought six of the heavy, leaden, heart-stopping, artery-clogging time bombs.  As soon as I got home, I wrapped them and put them in the downstairs freezer to be meted out one at a time, divided into shared fractions after an occasional Sunday breakfast.  Well, nobody’s perfect.