There are times when nothing else will do.
For those of you who don't live in Canada, poutine is the miracle that occurs when you sprinkle cheese over homefries and then pour gravy over the whole works. Traditional poutine uses cheese curds, but most of the chip joints in St. John's just use shredded mozzarella.
I find that when I'm really tired, when I'm stressed and work out and spread too thin, I need poutine. When things are bad but not too bad, I'm all about more wholesome comfort foods like peanut butter toast or soup, but there comes a time when it has to be poutine. Gut-churning, heart-stopping, oh-so-satisfying poutine.
Such a time came Saturday night.
It started Friday morning. I had to be early for work to attend an all-day symposium. The symposium was a success, but immediately after I was off to the mall for midnight madness. Once a year all the stores have 20% off and stay open till midnight. It's kind of how they kick off Christmas shopping. It's completely exhausting to work, but when you work at a cardshop it's all hands on deck. By 11 my feet were aching and my head was pounding. But when another girl got sick I was asked to come back to open the following morning.
Opening was a bit of a mess, it took me three counts to get the cash to balance, and the rest of the day was kind of a blur. By the time I was walking home from the busstop in the rain it became clear that it was a poutine night. Thankfully, wonderul boyfriend obliged with carryout from The Big R.
I barely got through a third of it (and a glass of wine) I felt full and comforted. After a big food-induced coma I was ready to tackle another week.