Imaginary Networks

 Like everyone else on the planet, I am reading the news about Ukraine obsessively. I am leaving the writing about this topic to people with wiser things to say and instead will be writing about a much smaller topic.

When my daughter was a toddler a credit card company sent her an application to get a credit card. My sister was visiting. She was horrified that a child not yet old enough to cross a street by herself, ( let alone take the elevator on her own) would be sent an offer to apply for a credit card and asked my daughter the questions on the application. When asked about what her occupation was, my daughter stated that she was a waitress in an imaginary restaurant.

My daughter didn't get a credit card then. I was reminded of her then occupation as a waitress of an imaginary restaurant in my attempt to get my insurance company to cover the cost of my new hearing aids.  Officially my insurance company does cover the cost of hearing aids. That's what they say on their contract with me. HOWEVER, they only cover the cost if the provider is in-network. Actually, let me amend that. They cover the cost of the audiologist. The devices themselves are covered only for in-network providers...except that none of the providers are in-network. The insurance company only provides coverage for an imaginary network that does not exist---except in the imagination of the insurance company.

So I will cough up the $6,000. No, Costco doesn't have hearing aids that work with my particular pattern of hearing loss.  I don't need fancy clothes, but I do need fancy hearing aids. So hopefully within a couple of weeks, I will be able to function a little bit better in the universe as opposed to nodding and smiling or just opting out of social situations because it is just so exhausting to figure out what people are saying.

Figuring this tidbit of insurance information took up so much of my day that I didn't have quite enough time to bake bread. So I experimented and cooked lumps of bread dough in my 6 1/2 inch cast iron skillet.

For those who plan to ask, the skillet was ungreased. The flame under the skillet was medium-high. The first side of the bread was cooked for about three-four minutes and the second side was cooked for about two minutes. The bread was pita adjacent and went perfectly with barley, mushroom, and cabbage soup  I had made today that also was enhanced with a can of diced tomatoes, some shaved fennel, a chopped potato, black pepper, maple syrup, sour salt, cayenne pepper and cubed fresh Atlantic char that cooked away for the last half hour or so of cooking. I finished off the soup with a dollop of gochujang. 

The soup with the exception of the hot pepper could have been eaten by my ancestors from Kamenetz Podolsk and Frampol or my husband's ancestors from Tulchyn and Odessa.