I just got back from spending a week on a tour bus in Arizona, Utah, and Vegas, with sixteen members of my immediate family. Years ago, when my mother first proposed the trip, I'd said there was no way I could be gone for a week in the middle of the summer. But as the time drew closer I realized I'd be crazy not to go, so I said I would and then figured out the details.
The trip was a very good time. My family loves to eat, and we ate and ate. Meals were included, including desserts and appetizers, and it took nearly the entire week to learn to eat without overeating. I was especially taken with these petroglyphs which, not surprisingly, I assumed had something to do with someone's dinner many years ago.
My trusty employees did 14 farmers' markets in my absence. (They were supposed to do 15, but nobody's perfect.) When I showed up yesterday morning the kitchen looked very clean and things were flowing so smoothly that I felt delightfully obsolete, but they assured me that's hardly the case.
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