My mother made a pot roast for dinner tonight. A four pound pot roast cooked in the dutch oven on top of the stove, surrounded by whole potatoes, carrot pieces and an ocean of beef gravy. I made a chicken and gnochi stew with shitake mushrooms, carrots and broccoli. For Gumby, I made the chicken stew with fake chicken, hold the mushrooms. The idea was that we would have food for lunches and dinner for the next couple of potential hell days. The reality was different.
Sasquatch and Surfer Dude polished off an entire four pound pot roast in about ten minutes. My mother, who claimed she wasn't hungry and wanted to wait a while, never had a chance. I hear a lot of complaints that I never make roasts for them to destroy, and this was why. My locusts had arrived. The two of them hoarded beef for lunches tomorrow, while at the same time pointing fingers as to who had eaten the most food for dinner. It was ugly.
As soon as I realized what happened, I made the boys pony up their lunch beef for their poor starved Nana. She declined, half incredulous and half gratified at the power of grandma food. I wasn't incredulous or gratified. I just kept walking around saying, "It was a four pound pot roast. Four pounds." This is why I put mushrooms in everything I want to eat. Locusts don't like mushrooms. At least my locusts don't. It doesn't taste so good when it's brownies I'm hoarding, but at least I know they'll be left alone.
My mom is now eating a bowl of my chicken and mushroom stew, and, fueled by a little pre-debate wine, looks up at me periodically and says, "They really ate the whole thing?"
I raise my own glass as I nod that yes, they did indeed eat the whole beefy thing.
Thank god for shitake mushrooms. I won't starve this week.