Sardines

I love cookbooks. It's too bad that I don't like to cook. Yes, I'm a voyeur in the world of cookery. Occasionally, I do make something, but the activity doesn't come naturally. I'd rather read about cooking than do it. 

I bought a panini cookbook at Walden Pond Books. "God," said the guy behind the counter. "Looking at the cover makes me hungry. But then I haven't had lunch yet."

I looked at my watch. "It's four thirty. How can you go so long without eating?"

"Coffee and more coffee."

"If I could only skip lunch, I'd be thin," I said, enviously.

"Well, I'm not thin, as you can see. That's because I do all my eating at night, which is unhealthy."

"I don't know about unhealthy. Look at the French. They eat fattening foods, but they keep their weight off."

"Yes." He brightened up. "Half my family lives in Spain and they don't eat dinner there until ten at night."

"How do they do it? I couldn't go that long."

"Oh, they eat all day  They're constantly eating little snacks. Sardines on toast and stuff like that. Tapas."

"Sardines?" I wrinkled my nose.  "I've never had one. They sound disgusting."

"They're not. They're like tuna, only stronger. You should try some." 

"OK, I will."  But I haven't screwed up the courage yet.