Comfort. Again.

Back to the office today for the first time in 6 weeks, and a pretty traumatic experience, between navigating the unpredictable steps and kerbs, working out how to get a cup of tea from the office kitchenette to my desk, and fielding the endless query "What have you done to yourself then?" (my latest tactic is to look straight at the questioner unblinkingly and say "Nothing". Which, though verging on the obnoxious, is not a lie.) Home hours later and I'm exhausted and wondering whether going back to work while still on crutches is the cleverest thing I've ever done. I decide to reward myself and my family with Special Fried Chicken for dinner. The coating for the chicken is one I picked up from a friend who said it was an old Jewish Eastern European recipe. What was in it, I asked eagerly. Matzo meal, she said. Vegetable stock. Spices. And guilt.