Dear Diary,

I needed help with the chili and cornbread delivery.  And, I knew “Cleopatra” would volunteer once she found out it was for the Mayor’s wife.  Unfortunately, “Cleopatra” talked nonstop as I drove to the Mayor’s mansion.  She said, “7 babies.  That’s nuts!!!  I’m gonna get pictures of her baby bump(s) and sell them!”  At one point, I stopped listening because I wasn’t interested in the process of artificial insemination or how often fertility clinics goof or the impossibility of finding out who the fathers of the fetuses are!  It was all too weird.  I didn’t want to think about it, and I definitely didn’t want to go inside the Mayor’s mansion.  But I did…

After security tasted the chili, and confiscated “Cleopatra’s” cell phone, we were allowed inside the Mayor’s wife’s private boudoir suite.  It was beautiful!  It looked like something from a magazine only nicer because there was this extra glow to it.  Then I remembered the Mayor’s wife’s book, 11 Ways To A Restful Night’s Sleep Through The Mystery And Mastery of Feng Shui.  Anyway, the Mayor’s wife and my boss were seated at a table laughing.

As I approached with the chili and cornbread, I noticed the Mayor’s wife was signing legal documents.  My boss had the giggles and said, “I just figured out my next seminar: ‘The 7 reasons why a savvy woman shouldn’t sign legal disclaimers at fertility clinics.'”  There was a brief pause then she said, “Or maybe it should be: ‘The 7 questions every savvy woman should ask right before artificial insemination.'”  Another pause.  Then she said, “I’ve got it.  My next seminar will be: ‘The 7 reasons why a case is dismissed on technicalities (by the FBI) every savvy woman should know.'”  The Mayor’s wife said, “I’ll drink to that!”  Then she “chug-a-lugged” from a champagne flute.  My boss looked at me and said, “Don’t worry, it’s lemonade!”


Dear Diary,

At 2:30 pm, I received a text from my boss.  It read: “I’m at my mother’s.  Sorry (in advance) for the inconvenience.  But, could you, would you please (with sugar on top), bring us a banana bread (use extra bananas), and whatever soup you made today.”


With all the excitement about the Mayor’s wife’s arrest, and the cassava flour palooza, I had completely forgotten to make a soup…  On Sundays, my boss likes to offer an exotic warming soup with one bakery side item for $13.75.  Then I got another text from my boss: “You should remember my mother’s address.  Also, be a dear and enter from the red kitchen door.  The front door’s security camera is whacky and will signal an alarm because I haven’t uploaded your image to its facial recognition software.  Capisce?”  I didn’t understand but wrote, “I’ll be there by 5:00pm.”  She wrote back, “After dark would be better.”

The “after dark” seemed weird, but truthfully it was no weirder than the time my boss asked me to collect cobwebs for her mother’s injured foot.  Looking back, I don’t know how I did it.  But, I did.

Anyway, I needed to make soup PDQ!  Lentils might seem like an odd thing for a bakery to have on hand, but they are incredibly versatile; so I decided to make Ismail Merchant’s “Nimbu Masoor Dal” or lemon lentils.  When the soup was ready, I set off for my boss’s mother’s house.

“Ultimate Banana Bread” recipe from the book, Everyday Grain-Free Baking, by Kelly Smith

“Nimbu Masoor Dal (Lemon Lentils)” from the book, Passionate Meals, by Ismail Merchant