Some of the tomatoes I bought from farmer's market last time turned out to be split open or bruised. Consequently, when I was digging through my vegetable stash for dinner today, I realized to my dismay that half of my tomato supply had putrefied far before their due, forcing me to throw out 4 or so fruits and wash the smell off the others before putting them in a new, clean bag.
Barely an hour later I crack open a Leffe Belgian ale to go with my (tomato-free) dinner, and it distresses me somewhat that it tastes more than a little like those bad tomatoes smelled at the time of their eviction. I remember thinking, back when I first started drinking beer (all those years ago), that "beer tastes like dead and rotting things." A bit of negative nostalgia to go with all the high school retrospective poetry I've been writing lately, I suppose.
In other news...tonight, I douse my friendly venture. That's a promise.
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