It’s been a month of things and transitions.
We survived baby’s first respiratory thing. “First baby, first cough!” I kept saying each time I called the nurse line.
Thanksgiving. First snow. Christmas shopping.
I start a new job this week. I’ve been composing a Taylor Swift breakup album, but for your previous employer album in my head for the past two weeks.
A little nerve-wracking, but also exciting and hopeful. I’m ready!
Every Friday night we order delivery.
I used to wonder why so many parents brought their babies to breweries.
Now I get it.
Everyone knew this was maybe, possibly, the last nice weekend of the year. We have a knack for that in Minnesota.
Last weekend I visited the new food hall Malcolm Yards. When we arrived upon opening, it was fairly busy but bearable enough to grab lunch with the baby and sit on the patio. The parking lot is a big, gravel lot. Kind of an obstacle course if it rained recently and you’re pushing a stroller. But still, not far from our neighborhood and easy for city parking.
Today we had our first mid-70’s degree day since. . . I can’t remember when?
Maybe we’re wimps up north, but 90 degrees feels unbearable? Maybe anger inducing? I’ve lined up all of my favorite hoodies on my dresser and wistfully eye them every morning. Give me that basic bitch fall. Pumpkin spice lattes, oversized hoodies, caramel apples and apple cider doughnuts, Halloween movies. . .
I haven’t wanted to eat chicken strips since I got pregnant.
This week, chicken strips sounded good again. After our tax appointment, we stopped by nearby Nashville Co-op’s newish brick-and-morter location that opened mid-September. Previously, I had seen one of their food trucks parked at Thomas Liquors on Fridays. The neighborhood air smelled fried and delightful like the State Fair. There were always a lot of people placing orders.
Reading this Minnesota Monthly profile of Nashville Co-op, I learned the owners Arif and Kamal Mohamed had operated the Alimama’s Sambusas, a food truck I visited back when we worked downtown.
The menu is extremely concise– strips or a sandwich? Texas toast and/or fries. And finally, how hot do you want it, on a scale from 1-4? We chose the third – Growlin’, for I heard the Cluckin’ Hot was actually Cluckin Hot. You know when you order “extra hot” in the upper Midwest.
Sometimes you eat things for nostalgia’s sake even though they’re not very good. But, sometimes they’re as good as you remember.
This tweet caught my eye this week:
It’s true. Or. . . did our Subway sandwiches actually choose us?
I’ve always alternated between the Veggie Delite and Spicy Italian. Jake’s favorite is still the Spicy Italian. This felt like a very fancy sandwich back then.
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