Month: January 2011
Superdog, Able to Peek in Windows
The other day I looked out onto the deck to see
Which wouldn’t be weird, except the bottom of that window is three feet off the ground.
I moved closer, wondering if my dog had developed superpowers, and realized
I love that little bastard.
Lunch
Salad (farmer’s market lettuce, olive oil, balsamic, mustard, and raw garlic):
Sauteed mushrooms:
Omelet:
I followed the recipe and everything.
But to make up for it, looky here:
From raw almonds.
That I roasted.
And then made
into
almond
butter.
(This is funnier if you imagine me saying it in a sing-songy, victorious voice.)
I get my Laura Ingalls Wilder badge, now, right?
Protected: This Could All Be a Bad Dream by Tomorrow
Chicken-Vegetable Soup, Redux
Remember that massacre in a pot I made?
It was supposed to look like this:
Here it is in a bowl:
Here it is in the fridge:
I almost took pictures of me and the soup frolicking together in a meadow. That’s how good it is.
Can I tell you something? I poached chicken. I took chicken, and then I poached it.
And I made vegetable soup and put that poached chicken in that vegetable soup, and it is delicious.
I’m cooking. I’m a cooker. I’m a caulker and a cooker.
I’m pretty sure there’s no end to my talents.
You Know What Makes Life Worth Living?
That’s right: Peanut Butter Motherfucking Zigzag.
Protected: Second Date with Billy Joel Today
Protected: Harrumph
Another Paleo Fail
Them: Get rid of that half-and-half! Put coconut milk in your coffee! Delicious!
Actual Conversation from Tonight’s Dinner Party
(Not at my house, natch.)
Friend: This is delicious, [hostess], and speaking of which (turning to me), let’s talk about your blog.
Other friend: What about it?
Me: I’ve been trying to do some cooking.
Friend: (laughing) Ugh, what WAS that ham and lima bean and mozzarella thing?
Me: (hanging head) I’m TRYING.
Friend: You just need to learn a few basics, like soup and chicken.
Me: I tried to bake some chicken. It didn’t work.
Friend: What did you do?
Me: I coated it in a chicken spice and put it in my toast-r-oven at 400.
(peals of laughter from all parties)
Friend: You can’t cook chicken in a toast-r-oven!
Me: Why not? It’s a toast-r-OVEN. Gah!
Friend: How much chicken did you put in there?
Me: Four breasts.
(more peals)
Me: WHAT?!
Friend: So what happened?
Me: I couldn’t get it up to the right internal temperature, so I had to resort to the regular oven, but then it just turned to rubber.
By the way, that was two weeks ago, and it’s still in my fridge. Why do I believe that my cooking, like fine wine, will improve with age?