Hi readers. Thanks for coming by for a read.
Because of the differences in our dietary idiosyncracies Jeanne and I don’t cook much for one another, almost never anything shared. I usually cook breakfast for her, but only as a separate deed.
So yesterday when she pronounced she was going to make two  peach pies, one for me without salt, one for herself, I was only surprised she was doing one for me. She carefully cut up the peaches, got everything ready but the crusts, then refrigerated it all.
I thought she’d already found the crust recipe she’d been searching for. But there she was barefoot by the bookcase, holding the 10 pound, The Victory Cook Book, Binding of the American Woman’s Victory Edition published in 1943. Edited by Ruth Berolzheimer, director of the Culinary Arts Institute.
Great book. Dedicated to General Douglas MacArthur.
“His heroic leadership and gallant fight against overwhelming odds should inspire every American woman to make the most of daily opportunities to support the war effort in her home and in every sphere of worthwhile activity.”
Nice full page pic of Dugout Dug inside opposite the dedication, him having recovered from his nighttime scurry out of Manila leaving his command to surrender to the Japanese, Death March across Bataan, that sort of thing.
But I digress.
Jeanne tried to lift that book and SPANG, it slipped out of her hand! She doesn’t have much strength in it because it was broken a while back, and it’s not easy for her to remember. CRUMP went Douglas MacArthur and all the cuisine prepared by the women of America supporting WWII.
Jeanne doubled over in pain and I hopped up figuring I’d try to help. But Jeanne just lost WWII and the War in the Pacific, broke at least one toe, possibly two.
By the end of the evening the one toe was swelling and turning purple. We were alternating artificial ice in and out of the freezer, and she was in a lot of pain. The toe is purple enough for most usual purposes today and swollen, but she’s able to get around.
All the peaches are there in the fridge, but I’m thinking I might just figure on eating them without pie crust. She’s going out with friends tonight and planning to be busy today, so I don’t think cooking pie is in the cards.
I suggested she tell her friends when they ask why she’s limping, tell them I pissed her off and she sidekicked me in the head. If she doesn’t take me up on it she’s missing one hell of a good story.