Today was a miserably wet and dour day in San Francisco. Usually I walk home from work, but with the sky pouring dishwater on me, I opted for Muni.
The bus was horrifyingly packed with homeless stench, dank and greasy aerosol hairspray, and liberally sprayed with unidentifiable wetness. As I was jostled between a disgusting, rank body and another morbidly obese creature, I fervently wished breathing were not necessary.
Once home, I divested myself of my wet things and shoved my completely frozen fingers underneath my sleeping kitten.
Then I dug into my stash like a shivering heroin addict.
Nerves smoothed, I went about preparing dinner. However, the weather snuck into my dishes and nothing turned out the way I wanted it to.
I whisked together a dollop of miso, sesame oil, ten shakes of chili flakes, honey, soy sauce and a splash of white vinegar into a thick sweet and savory dressing.
A hank of cabbage, spinach, a tomato, and half a red bell pepper were chopped into bite-size pieces, dropped into the bowl of dressing and tossed together.
Crunchy and fresh, the salad brightened my mood, dispelling the rainy day blues.
Another piece of white chocolate did not hurt either.