He has a way with words. It's one of the many reasons we've made it to four days after our seventh anniversary. He also has a way with making ground meat into puppets while he's working with it, which is only slightly less endearing than his impressive lexicon.
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I mean, this didn't taste like chicken. It tasted like lamb, which is what it was. I mean that there's something slightly unsatisfying about a Wednesday Night Smackdown. Like, it should be slightly exciting and unorthodox because it's not a Thursday, but it tastes like chicken. Like alligator meat. Or what I imagine alligator meat would taste like.
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Shut up, I needed some retail therapy and I have their discount card. I can only stimulate the economy so much without coupons. I like to support my local big-box bookstore whenever I can, because this upstart Amazon is usually cheaper and is really giving the brick-and-mortars a run for their money, let me tell you.
They didn't have any great looking Spanish cookbooks either, and was I especially loathe to buy the new Batali-frolics-across-Spain book because (1) I wanted to buy a cookbook, not a series of photos of his orange Crocs in various Spanish locales and (2) it would ...
ETA: Please, NO COMMISERATING. It usually just makes me feel worse because no two people with mental illness are ever in the same place, and I need to be working through my own shit instead of comparing myself to others. However, rooting for me is totally acceptable and is encouraged.
They tell me that eventually this drug is going to work like a charm, and in the meantime it's just going be a bit "activating." Where activating = sitting curled up on the corner of the couch, sobbing, convinced my life is a crumbling wreck of a life, not even able ...
Quoth Brian's mom, as we finished dinner: "This goes on my list of OK." Which I promise is not the damnation via faint praise it sounds like.
Since I crapped out on my own foodie event by failing to smack anything down while in North Carolina last week, I thought we'd make up for it this week (and capitalize on the lovely weather we're having right now) by turning to the grill.
We have a copy of Bobby Flay's Boy Meets Grill, acquired Soup Bible-style from a Barnes and Noble discount endcap. Mock Bobby Flay all you want - lord ...
I don't want to harp, really, but I do feel that I must state here again that I do NOT own a mandolin.
I finally got a copy of Jean-Georges Vongerichten's Asian Flavors of Jean-Georges, and immediately wanted pretty much everything in it. I was going to do the peking duck, because yum, but the directions instructed me to hang the glazed raw duck from a hook overnight in the fridge, where you've also placed a small battery-powered fan to keep air moving around the duck. Thanks for adapting that recipe for the home cooks with normal-sized refrigerators* at ...
My ass is due east of Suck On It, Tunisia.
If I'm not cooking directly from a recipe or making one of my standby dishes, I'm trying to riff off someone else's ideas. I can poach a mean egg and I have a decent sense of what goes with what (e.g., bacon goes with everything), but I don't flatter myself that I'm particularly innovative or have some kind of culinary talentg. I have more of an all-around genius than a specific savant-like gift.
Every once in a while, though, I make up a dish that seems pretty unique (at least ...