Returning from Monday morning’s workout, I caught the tail end of Food Network’s The Kitchen.
Chef Geoffrey Zakarian was making bone broth and said the cost was less to DIY than to purchase.
Because of all the ingredients one would have to purchase, I didn’t think so and googled "Cost of ingredients for bone broth" and got … "Adding the cost of vegetables, spices, herbs, and apple cider vinegar, one batch of bone broth cost about $20 — yields 10 cups. That's $2 per cup".
On the surface, that sounds pretty good — especially when one considers I pay $3.99 for a 32 oz container of bone broth, and it yields only 4 cups.
However, if I were to purchase three 32 oz containers, for a total of $11.97 to yield 10 cups, I only use two and a quarter or so of the three, with plenty left over for other uses.
Math has never been my strong suit — I never did figure out the age-old question "If both trains leave the station at the same time, how far apart will they be at the end of two hours?" So, it would give me a migraine to try to figure out how much $11.97 breaks down to a per cup value but, correct me if I’m wrong, by my calculations Geoffrey is incorrect. It's more economic to purchase — not to mention the time saved in bypassing all the chopping and standing over a hot stove.
Heading out this morning to pick up the laptop, I followed the nudge I’d been ignoring to check on Next Door Neighbor.
Generally in and out all day every day, making a racket when she drags her grocery cart up the stairs, it had occurred to me a few days ago that I’d not seen or heard a peep out of her for over a week. Also, her car hadn’t moved and, when I glanced at her side window late last night — to see if any lights were on, indicating she was there, it was completely dark, no light was seeping out.
If she wasn’t okay, something had happened, I didn’t want to wait for the odor of a decomposing body to waif through the building — THAT has happened here, so I knocked on my way out this morning.
Had she not answered, I’d have called for a Welfare Check, but she opened the door, appearing just fine.
Saying, she’s been on the computer, deep into researching family history, I told her, in future — when she ceases all outside activities like she had, make some noise now and then, so I’ll know she’s okay.
The laptop is back in its place, but the beat goes on because it’s still not working. The tech people tell me it’s the charger … just like I’d originally diagnosed.
I’m not mad at having a new battery installed, because can’t hurt; and at least, this time, I got the correct P Number to use in ordering a new charger ... supposedly.
The Saga Continues