Even a hyperactive home cook flags in the kitchen now and then.
Sometimes nothing sounds good.
The fridge stares back at me with the same downtrodden, disenchanted look I'm giving it until I close the door. Then its compressor throws in a leaden sigh.
Other times, I want to eat everything under the sun, but don't want to make any of it.
And when I ring my silver bell, no one comes!
But even in my most uninspired hour--when Ryvita topped with cheese, almond butter, and frowny apples on a paper plate is all I can muster--I'm still compelled to dribble some olive oil over one and to shake some cinnamon over the other.
My inner Ratatouille pulling me out of my funk by my apron straps.