Ah, to be in Europe walking along cobblestone streets eating fresh bread and Gouda. That crash back to reality has set in. Going through a home improvement store, praying someone helps me find the box that goes with the toilet while I yell at my kids to stop climbing on the shelves, more driving than walking, asphalt streets with pot holes.
Part of normal ife is cooking at home. At least if I’m back to making dinners at home again I know who to steal from. When you travel you don’t know.
I present roast chicken ala theft. How do you do your chicken?