For the last week, I've had the cold that just won't die. (Or rather, the cold that psyches you into thinking it died right away, but returns with a vengeance over the weekend.) But on Sunday night, Evan and I did something fun. Before the rain came pouring down, we went out to our humble little overgrown, horribly tangled garden and picked our first eggplant.
Half of it we breaded and fried and ate in strips dipped in tomato sauce.
For now, I think my cold is dying its second death, and it looks like Evan is finally beginning to catch it.