The backstory: Having just finished his lunch, a giant sandwich I brought him from a local deli and while raiding my work desk for my emergency chocolate supply, JT wanted to know what’s for supper tonight.
Me: Well, there will be roasted chicken.
JT: Why not just say you are making some kind of summer salad that will never fill me up?
Me: Perhaps because I’m not? There will be lemon pasta, chicken, and bread. Will that do?
While it’s true that I have made my fair share of refreshing summer salads, my primary activity this summer has been to bake endless chicken breasts for a certain bottomless pit. Notably, often while eating said chicken, he frets that no more food will ever be forthcoming. This is a nightmare that never materializes. But the boy is wary nonetheless.