That’s what a friend of mine says to me from time to time.

But chicken was on the menu tonight, so it popped right into my head as I was pounding out chicken breasts to prepare them for slathering and rolling. The slather? After sprinkling the newly-flattened breasts with salt and pepper, I layered on some spinach and some gruyere, then rolled them up and secured them with toothpicks. Those went into the oven while some long grain rice bubbled on the stovetop. Since my brother and his son were surprise guests this evening, I broke out one of those ubiquitous blue boxes of mac and cheese for the kidlet, since he is not a big rice eater. Add some sliced tomatoes, and presto, a meal is made. It was good enough – the eaters ate it very well – but unfortunately, I could not really taste the chicken very well. The healing continues.

I also came to the realization today that the remainder of the painting will have to be done by someone else. Between the moving, the painting, the cooking, and the work of setting up new servers, switches, and reboot ports, I’m achy and exhausted, so something has to give. Since it certainly won’t be the cooking, and my real work must take precedence, that means paying someone to finish the cutting and trim in the living room/foyer (which is almost completed and which looks great in this color) and to paint the kitchen. I don’t suppose it helps that I stepped on the edge of something while coming down off the ladder this afternoon and managed to fall – but managed not to land the roller on the floor. Small victories.

Something amusing about hazelnuts. I’ve been having a hard time finding them at the local stores, so went to Fresh Market, which certainly should carry them, right? However, the first person I asked, who happened to have a significant southern drawl, had no idea what hazelnuts looked like. I thought for a moment. “Filberts,” I said. “Have any of those?” They certainly did. Now I have hazelnuts for the chocolate-hazelnut tart that will be part of Sunday’s dinner. Let that be a lesson: when in doubt, remember where you are and name things accordingly.

Dinner Sunday: grilled wild Maine lobster with drawn butter and a chili vinaigrette (for those so inclined) atop a small bed of angel hair pasta, salad, corn on the cob, chocolate-hazelnut tart.