I’m having a hard time dealing with the fact that one of my favorite restaurants gave me the longest, gnarliest case of food-poisoning I’ve ever experienced.My innocent, routine trip out to breakfast last Monday was meant to inspire a day of productivity and creative prowess. After a weekend of backpacking in the Jemez, I needed something to get my mind back into the swing of things. However, my aspirations for the day were sabotaged by a half-eaten breakfast burrito.Highlights of my week spent at home included:• Lying on the couch for hours upon hours drifting in and out of consciousness trying to think of anything but food.• Staying wrapped up in a flannel blanket to keep my temperature high—the theory being the hotter environment kills pathogens more effectively—not my idea, but my boyfriend swore it would work.• Rude bodily interruptions, forcing me to spend some quality time with my "comfort station."It was a week from hell.My biggest problem, though, is figuring out how to deal with this sudden rift between me and my favorite coffee shop. I can equate my feelings to the following hypothetical situation: After inviting a close friend of mine into my home, he accidentally drops a grenade. Detonating, it destroying nearly everything I own. Sure, it was an accident, but clearly I can never trust him again. I mean, honestly, why was he carrying a grenade? Metaphors aside, you can see my dilemma. Our relationship is definitely on the rocks right now.On the bright side, I know I can continue to drink their coffee, which is easily the best in town. Considering I’m definitely not a coffee person—rarely finding pleasure in any cup o’ joe—it’s amazing how much I delight in their brew. Perhaps the foundation of our relationship is still intact.
A Nasty Bout Of The Breakfast Burrito
2 min read
