In my sickness this past week--perhaps in my delirium--I had this yen for baked beans on toast. And specifically, not wishing to turn The Buddha Diaries into a commercial forum, for Heinz Baked Beans on toast.
I suppose it was a reversion to childhood, when baked beans on toast must have been, for my mother, and easy option at supper time. Perhaps, one day when I had the measles... (Yes, I did have the measles as a child. There was no such thing as a vaccination to prevent the disease back then. Had there been, I have no doubt but that my parents would have done the responsible thing. I'm infuriated by the obtuse denial of supposedly educated people who subscribe to the same kind of phony science on this subject they would ridicule in deniers of climate change.) I remember the measles. I think that my sister had it at the same time--quite likely, given its highly infectious nature. I remember the quarantine in our upstairs nursery, the basket we lowered from the window to friends down below, the sweets and the messages... It must have been quite fun. Apart from the rash and the itches.
Anyway, back to the beans. I had another beans on toast period, as a young bachelor with an attic room in a house I shared in Putney in South London. I was often too lazy to cook any real food for myself, and often too poor to go to a restaurant. Any spare change I might have had was far better spent on a visit to the pub. So beans on toast was a good option. Bread was cheap. All I needed was a can opener, a flame on the gas stove, a toaster, and Bob's your uncle.
Well, all in all, I have no explanation for my year last week. I rose from my sickbed and went, with Ellie, in search of a can of Heinz Baked Beans at the local supermarket, but alas, no joy. I had to overcome my prejudice against the name and settle for a can of Bush's. Which, as it turned out, was not too bad. Can you imagine?
At least, I figured, I did no one any harm. Not even, seriously, myself.