In our defense, when a truck stop in northern Oregon is your only option for a nineth* seventh-inning stretch on a stinkin’ hot afternoon after already spending eight hours in the car with another two ahead, your brain craves pleasure and/or distraction, preferably on the chilly side.

While momentarily distracting, there was very little pleasure involved here, other than the booby-prize of noticing what a deliciously ridiculous example this was of the “food product” industry that currently crowds out the actual food from our shopping aisles and truck stops.

And notice, dear reader, that this “snap” was taken before Rick and I polished off the whole damn thing, fully aware that we were chowing down on an artificially flavored vanilla frozen dairy dessert bar with chocolatey coating… and yes, king size me baby!

I’m not proud of this. Does it help that we shared it?

We resolved to do better when we got back to our own beloved pots and pantry. We would embrace kale and quinoa and bean dishes made from scratch. And we did, learning many wonderful new things about previously unexplored regions in the world of real food.

For instance, there’s a good reason why you want to soak and then boil the bejeepers out of beans before you add them to a dish.

My theory is that the white stuff is a “pre-flatulence product,” conveniently shaped to slide neatly into your colon, from whence it wages a vigorous battle with your social life. In terms of flavor, appearance, and nutrition, it’s roughly on par with the previously mentioned “food product.” My advice: don’t eat “products.”

Mindful that we have some sensitive souls and night owls among our readership, or maybe some of you haven’t had breakfast yet, let me leave you with a more comforting and appetizing image.

Witness this morning’s sourdough spelt loaf, although I’m pretty sure at least a few of you will scroll back up for a second look at The Stuff.

*Update, Nov. 30, 2012.
I’m a little disappointed that none of my baseball-loving readers alerted me to my error in thinking that the seventh-inning stretch was a ninth-inning stretch. Seriously, I can’t do this alone, people.