My absence can be explained. Much like a cat with a large tropical bird in my mouth coughing feathers, I've been holding onto a secret to the point that I could burst.
Baby number 1 is on the way.
There. Feathers gone.
But can I say that secrets and food really don't mix.
Case in point - Christmas this year was probably my worst Christmas ever.
My mother brought enough Jamon de Bellota to feed an army, which I diligently passed around looking demure and like-I-don't-want-to-over-indulge.
My sister-in law made her own foie which, ethics aside, made me shed a bitter tear as I politely declined, again looking like I'd just arrived from a 2 week detox in Thailand.
The home cured gravalax didn't help either.
Seriously, until this year, I hadn't realized what a nightmare Christmas could be. My own solace was found in the grilled scallops..and even that was questionable.
