Having lived in England for a couple of years, I have to cop to being a bit of an Anglophile. I drink tea instead of coffee, get a kick out of all that pomp and circumstance surrounding the Royal Family, and make a mean scone, complete with clotted cream and strawberry jam. When I get the opportunity to celebrate my affinity for all things British, like Kate and Williams' little shindig a while back, I jump right on it. I may not be there to get caught up in all the pageantry but I still like to find a way to reconnect with my "second home" from this side of the pond any chance I get. Needless to say, that includes the annual Wimbledon fortnight.
Luckily for me, I have a son who likes tennis almost as much as I do. I wish I could say that I play as well as he does (just wait, he'll have arthritic knees someday, too) but the joy I get from our shared passion almost makes up for the fact that I will never, ever beat him. He usually doesn't have the patience (or time) to watch a televised match with me but yesterday, when I asked him if he wanted to watch the Men's Final between Djokovic and Murray, he actually said yes.
When he arrived around 9:30 a.m., the DVR already had an hour and a half head start. Learning that I was out of both o.j. and bacon, he bolted back to his car to head to the nearest grocery store. By the time he got back, the poached eggs were almost done and I was working on the French Toast. A few minutes later, we were sitting in front of the TV with our calorie-laden breakfasts watching Novak and Andy duke it out.
After the first set was over, I mentioned that, while I had forgotten to thaw out the amazing frozen chocolate croissants from Trader Joe's that he loves, I did have a can of Pillsbury Grand biscuits in the fridge. (For those not in the know, these things make phenomenal donuts. Just punch out a hole with a vanilla bottle lid, drop them into a shallow pan of hot oil, and dredge in powdered sugar or cinnamon or dip in chocolate frosting - beats any store bought donut around.)
While my son continued watching the match, I fried up the dough. Within minutes, I had a plateful of warm, crusty, gooey donuts that would lead to me adding another half hour to my exercise schedule. (Side note: I've been on a real health kick for the last month. I've been exercising every day, eating more greenery than your average rabbit, and cutting down on sweets.) But watching my son devour his favorite childhood treat while we watched Andy Murray become the first British male to win Wimbledon in seventy-seven years put a big smile on my face.
Some things are worth a few extra calories.
No comments:
Post a Comment