December 29th, 2013

Flavored Calories.

Sandwich abuse

Babies don't know how much good food there is. THERE. Boom. That's one big benefit of growing up: better food! Up to a point.

Like Grandma Jean's blended sandwich.

Grandma Jean needed closer care in her last few years, as a lot of us do. She had a stroke in spring 2001, and having that at any age, let alone in your 80s, knocks the wind out of your sails. She never fully recovered from that. I don't know all the details, so I'll speak vaguely so I'm less likely to get things wrong, but at one point in her care she really needed food. Not just IV fluids, food, calories. More calories and substances than, say, you can get from juice.

The solution that time? Taking all the ingredients for a sandwich, and dumping them in a blender.

I never found out more details about that, um, er, sandwich shake. Just that Grandma Jean was deeply displeased by it and, apparently, made her displeasure known. She had a tolerance to pain that would've impressed Mick Foley, but had a low tolerance for food that tasted bad; she didn't like eating that.

But I hope that meant that she was better able to eat better food later.