Cranky can't resist certain food urges. Especially if I talk out loud about something good to eat.
Me, I'm just thinking and planning and doing a mental taste experiment. Out loud. Cranky is an epistemologist, and he wants the food in his mouth if he's going to make a judgment. Now.
He can't wait.
We had some fantastic sliced ham in the fridge the other day (from Fra' Mani, it was rosemary scented), and I blurted (perhaps it's my fault; I should just keep quiet) how nice an asparagus spear would be, rolled up in some of this ham.
Asparagus is out of season, obviously, so this was strictly conjecture.
Nope. Cranky came home with a bunch of asparagus grown in Calexico, which is about as far from me as you can get and still be in California. (At least it came from California!)
The two of us decided it would be a nicer nosh served on a plank of buttered toast.
The wheat, not local. The pork, probably not local. The asparagus was the local-est thing!
And? No regrets.