The Adjusted Normal, 7. Fast Food à la Slow.
We have our bread delivered daily by a local bakery. Every morning, around eight thirty, they drive up, the passenger comes out, hangs the bag with a loaf on our door, and continues. Every day, except Sunday. That day, we're on our own. So, either my husband or I drive to a bakery roundabouts. Today, I drove into Rianxo and went to one that has very good bread. The smell of fresh bread reached down the street and pleasingly lodged itself in my nose. So did the smell of fried onion that was being prepared for their empanadas . There was a line in the street, and as I was standing there, cars drove up and parked where they could, and people left them to join the line. It's a popular bakery. When it was my turn, I went in to the little cubicle (even without Covid-19, it can't take much more than three people), and put in my order for a loaf, and, while I was at it, asked about their empanadas . I was told they had only corn ones today, unless I wanted to order one and come...