Pastry and lupus

How does it go again? What’s worse than finding a toenail in your pie? Finding the band aid that was holding it on.

I generally avoid savory pastries for this reason. For me they have always conjured up an image of a man in gumboots mopping the slaughterhouse floor, corralling all the beef detritus into the central drain and then shoveling it into a bucket (later to be combined with ground up hooves and snouts) to be expertly syringed into a bulwark of dough and then fired in an oven.

We took my daughter for a hair cut this weekend. Which is weirdly exciting for me because the kiddies barbershop has a semi-decent bookshop next door and across from them is a Morroccan restaurant.

The Morroccan restaurant sells lamb pastries (I love North African food)



I make a massive exception to my (otherwise unyielding) rule for these. They are remarkably delicious, combining the two ambrosia like elements of lamb and pastry. They also don’t skimp on the meat. Just thinking about it makes me salivate in a very Pavlovian sense.

Speaking of dogs.

I’ve been joined by a creature. (In our house the humans lie on the floor)



My German has lupus. Which is why her nose looks a little raw. I know, I know, it’s NEVER lupus (Dr. House) but in her case it really is.



Have some Lupus dad. Right in your eye hole.



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