I do two hours of Water Aerobics every weekday, but on weekends, John and I walk over to the exercise room at the apartment complex. I walk on the treadmill for an hour or so, reading, which is the only good thing about a treadmill. This little snail was crossing the sidewalk early Saturday and looked delicious. I could just see my grandfather picking him up and putting him in the little pen with the other fellows, waiting out the two weeks to make sure they hadn't been poisoned. And then, if he survived, turning him over to my grandma to cook up in that amazing garlic powered butter sauce. Which is just as good without the snails. My grandparents would more often get their snails in cans, along with a whole lot of other gourmet (in those days, I just thought of it as odd) stuff. One of the more intriging things to eat was the canned baby eels. It looked like worms with teeny tiny black eyes and when you ate it on a cracker, tasted a lot like fish sticks. Somehow, sardines just never measured up to the eel.
Just in case I don't get a chance tomorrow (since I'm traveling), I bought two Jamba Juices today, so I'm still on my Lenten track. Monday, I'm planning on Ice Cream.