And ten shakes of salt because we laugh in the face of sodium around here.
Then we got chickens in May, and Matt's campaign to eat a lot of eggs ceased. He promptly started taking turkey sandwiches for lunch.
The only problem with this new meal plan is that it requires that I spend six to forty nine minutes of my life at the deli counter every Saturday.
There is a long history of hard feelings between me and the deli counter.
It all started when I was a little girl. Our grocery store was around the corner from a big US navy base, and there were always men in uniform at the deli counter. As I child I was capital T terrified of anyone in uniform, and I remember crying real tears when I would see servicemen ordering their lunch meat.
I've since grown to appreciate men in uniform, and have accepted the deli as a necessary evil in my life.
But I do think I've found the one thing Meatloaf wouldn't do for love. And that is stand at the deli counter on a busy Saturday afternoon when you're number 68 and they're only on 46, and a handful of customers between 47 and 67 have the audacity to request samples of every single prepared salad in the deli case.
I always laugh at our deli counter because no matter how loudly you speak, the worker always, always, ALWAYS double checks the amount you ordered mid-slice, and they are always, always, ALWAYS wrong.
"I'll have three quarters of a pound of honey maple turkey, please."
"No problem. Was that half a pound of the smoked ham?"
"No, three quarters, honey maple turkey. And then I'll take a pound of Boar's Head swiss cheese."
"Absolutely. You said a quarter pound of American?"
They ask so many clarifying questions that eventually I confuse myself. Two weeks ago I ordered a pound of pepper turkey and instead came home with half a pound of honey ham.
Last week Emily had the great honor of accompanying me on my weekly shopping trip. When we got to the deli, I told her to prepare herself, and then proclaimed in a dramatic fashion that the deli is where my soul goes to die, which she thought was hilarious.
I don't think she fully believed the stories I told, so I bet her that the deli worker would clarify my order, and that they'd be wrong.
"Hi, I'll have a pound of the teriyaki chicken, please."
Three minutes later.
"M'am, was that half a pound for the roast beef?"
I will say that I've found solidarity among my fellow deli customers, and we have had many conversations about just making peanut butter and jelly for lunch that week.
As soon as our chickens start laying eggs, it's back to egg salad for lunch.
And in the meantime, I'm just going to hope Meatloaf shows up at our deli counter one of these Saturdays.