This “diet” is an inspirational opportunity, a chance to demonstrate creativity, an exercise in economy of action. Clearly, life would have been amiss without it and I would have felt like I had been abandoned in a black hole for eternity.
Lately, I’ve found new joys in drinking dishwater. Sans the soap part. And also sans the multiple and varied particles that typically inhabit true dishwater. So, to ensure that I am communicating properly (and in order to be politically correct), let’s just call this “false dishwater.” Or, to be even more politically correct in the nostalgic eyes of Canadian baby-boomers, we can condense this to F.D.
So, F.D. has become one of my staples. And the variety of flavors and textures offers enough intrigue that it competes with the best of the addictive alternatives. I’ve referred to F.D. in the past, so as a refresher, this is how I recommend it: take an “empty” birch syrup container, add a bit of hot water, swirl, pour into the cup that was once your treasured coffee cup, drink lavishly and selfishly of the elixir of F.D. When finished, repeat the process for an entirely different richness of flavor. Keep repeating until the original container is virtually clean (and thank whomever that the days of wooden kegs is all but past!).
So, while experiencing a variety of unique and flavorful drinks, one can do the family a favor by cleaning dishes using F.D.
There are an abundance of missed opportunities; the joys of ingestible F.D. can be found everywhere in the kitchen, literally awaiting discovery and daring. For a more savory mid-afternoon winter tea, try F.D. from a pickle jar. An experience in globular texture can be readily had through F.D. yogurt. Or if that is too stimulating to the regurgitating reflex, then one can tame it down by trying the more subtle and less distinct curds of F.D. milk.
With time, tolerance overrides tact. I sometimes find myself unscrupulously indulgent, thinking selfishly that there are no other cravers of F.D. in the room. Why, just the other day, I casually picked up the nearly empty pot of stew, added some boiled water, swirled, and proceeded to drink directly from the pot, entirely skipping the stage of soiling a clean mug.
My kids were appropriately aghast: clearly I should have shared my bounty.