Sundays always bring two things for me- a mild depression that the weekend is coming to a close, mixed with a sense of responsibility for the week to come. Other than not getting fired from my job, the priority is often basic. Feeding us for the week. This Sunday, I had every motivation to squash the disgracefulness of our weekend eating and make a real, homemade meal. I got as far as defrosting the meat when the pizza delivery man arrived.
On to Monday. 6 a.m. I wobble out of bed, combine 1 lb. ground beef, about 1/2 lb. of spicy Italian sausage, 2 cans of plain organic tomato sauce and seasonings galore...and dump it in the crockpot. I managed to moderately clean myself, eat breakfast, make the bed and walk to the office by 7:45. I arrived a competent woman who could look forward to a stress-free night smothered in yummy, slow roasted sauce. Or not.
It burned. It was black. It didn't just crisp a little on the edges. It was an angry, ashy mess.
Convenience is a crock. We had fried egg sandwiches.
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