Six Feet Distanced

Snacks for our friends. Food shared -- but not shared. Bread, cheese with a clean knife,
a bowl of cherries, washed. All to be touched only by our friends. We had our own tray of snacks.

After a few months of isolation, we decided that in the beautiful weather we're having it would be safe to invite friends for a distanced but in-person visit. "Don't share food" is advice that appears when authorities talk about slowly returning to normal social life. I thought about it: sharing chips and dips is unsafe for sure. Sharing some peanuts or crackers means everyone's hand goes into the bowl. Sharing a salad involves touching utensils. We decided to prepare two identical trays of snacks, one for us and one for our friends who are also isolating together. First, of course, I washed my hands very clean!

Our friends sat over 6 feet away from us, at a separate
table with their own tray. We weren't too close, but it
was far more friendly than an e-chat.

We wrapped the bottles in a napkin to wipe them off after each pour.
And each of us poured our own wine in order to stay far apart.
Another not-shared snack idea: individual goldfish packs.

Together Apart

On a walk in the park we saw various examples of social distancing, like this couple.

Also 6 feet apart.

This group appear to be standing at the corners of a large square for their face to face meet-up.

Walking down the sidewalk not too close together?
Not quite 6 feet apart, though.

Besides maintaining my social distance on walks and participating in a family e-chat, I did a bit of reading this weekend: The Trespasser by Tana French, one of the Dublin Murder Squad series of mystery novels. I've enjoyed her books, but I find them somewhat longer than they need to be. This is no exception -- it drags in the middle though it picks up again at the end.

Tana French is adept at describing smelly places, for example: "The squad room has come alive. The printer is going, someone’s phone is ringing, the blinds are open to try and drag in the half-arsed sunlight; the place smells of half a dozen different lunches, tea, shower gel, sweat, heat and action." (p. 76)

Unlike in most mysteries that I favor, food in the Dublin police officers' lives is usually unappetizing. The woman detective narrator, for example, eats while doing several other things at home after work: "I should throw some dinner into me and crash out, but I hate wasting time on sleep even worse than I hate wasting it on food. I stick some pasta ready-meal thing in the microwave... . The microwave beeps. I take the pasta thing and my coffee to the sofa and open my laptop. ... The pasta thing has gone cold and slimy. I shove down the last mouthful anyway." (p. 167-169)

I really don't have enough to say about this book to write a real review.

Blog post and photos © 2020 mae sander for mae food dot blog spot dot com.