adrian is rad

I don’t know why I remember things like this sometimes.

One day when I was 10 or 12 my parents decided that I wasn’t getting enough protein with breakfast. I asked how I could get more protein. If they were so adamant about this, they should be able to come up with some things that were high in protein. Milk, yogurt, peanut butter, steak…

Wait…steak? I know it has plenty of protein, but breakfast?

And so my mom made me steak for breakfast everyday for a few weeks in 1992ish.

I had an odd childhood. I know: you’re surprised.

I live above a Peruvian restaurant. Not a lot of bad things about that (except the exhaust fan on Saturday mornings) and if I run out of food–hey, food downstairs.

A few weeks ago we went there to check the place out and say hi. I got pescado frito. You know, old school.

Anyway, we finished up and I’m at the register paying. There are these deserts with two soft, round, floury, sugary bits with a chocolate creme filling. Here’s the conversation:

Me: And could I get one of those.

Proprietress: sure

Me: And what are they called?

Her: Cookies.

Me: Oh…

I think I was swallowing my pride for much longer than I was swallowing the cookie.