Today, I got home pretty late, so I wanted something quick. I made something quick.
O. M. G.
I made grilled cheese ...with potato rosemary bread.
I grilled it in a ton of butter and spread mascarpone cheese on the bread. Then I put a couple slices of colby jack cheese on it. YUM!!!
Did I mention that I made roasted red carrots to eat on the side?
Five carrots sliced up, tossed with olive and sesame oils, cayenne pepper, cardamom, cinnamon, smoked paprika, and tobasco. I laid them out on a cookie sheet, salted them, and put them in my pre-heated 400 degree oven. More yum!
Life is good.
Thursday, March 14, 2013
Wednesday, March 6, 2013
Wonky Stomach Sick Day Productivity
I'm home today with a wonky stomach, which is uncomfortable, but feeling not so well has it's perks.
For example, it is almost noon, and I am still in bed in my pajamas. I finished one of the books I was reading (Asimov's The Gods Themselves, if you were wondering--it was really good). I have had ample cuddling time with my cat. I gave my blog a generic makeover because I'm sure nobody appreciated the chaos it was except me. I read some emails, which included a feed from one of my favorite blogs.
Yummy Books posted a new entry about a wine-braised leg of lamb with wild mushrooms inspired by The Secret History. I haven't read the book (I'm not sure it's my kind of thing, but the food sounds genius, if a bit expensive and difficult to put together here in Wichita, KS. I'll have to do a lot of fudging to make such a meal happen, but I'm going to make this Friday night. Lord knows I don't want to make the moon food from The Gods Themselves. Man-made substances that taste of peanut-flavored veal just don't appeal to me. Yuck.
Tall other wouldn't approve either, and he's coming for a visit this weekend. Since he loves lamb and he also loves mushrooms, what luck I have that the wine-braised lamb blog came out today! I had been planning on making red roasted carrots and lamb for Friday anyway, but I hadn't begun to plan how to make the lamb. Mushrooms are a stroke of genius that hadn't occurred to me while planning this particular food adventure. It's a good thing Yummy Books came to my rescue.
I think I'm going to have to drive out east to get fancy mushrooms, but the butcher shop I want to get the lamb from is out west. Blergh evil driving. Oh well. I'll do it for the tall one. He's been super stressed on his job hunt, so I think he deserves some fancy feasting.
If I spy any blood oranges at the uppity east side grocery store, I might try my hand at making a blood orange jello with panna cotta--something he had for dessert the last time we dressed up and went out to indulge our gluttony. Or we can just eat girl scout cookies.
He also requested bacon and waffles on Saturday morning. That's definitely a food-want I can resolve without any extra stress or expense on my part. I do love that he also has simple tastes.
Well, I think this wonky-stomached individual is going to fill a bath and soak while listening to an audiobook. I may even do a little lesson writing for work since I brought some home.
For example, it is almost noon, and I am still in bed in my pajamas. I finished one of the books I was reading (Asimov's The Gods Themselves, if you were wondering--it was really good). I have had ample cuddling time with my cat. I gave my blog a generic makeover because I'm sure nobody appreciated the chaos it was except me. I read some emails, which included a feed from one of my favorite blogs.
Yummy Books posted a new entry about a wine-braised leg of lamb with wild mushrooms inspired by The Secret History. I haven't read the book (I'm not sure it's my kind of thing, but the food sounds genius, if a bit expensive and difficult to put together here in Wichita, KS. I'll have to do a lot of fudging to make such a meal happen, but I'm going to make this Friday night. Lord knows I don't want to make the moon food from The Gods Themselves. Man-made substances that taste of peanut-flavored veal just don't appeal to me. Yuck.
Tall other wouldn't approve either, and he's coming for a visit this weekend. Since he loves lamb and he also loves mushrooms, what luck I have that the wine-braised lamb blog came out today! I had been planning on making red roasted carrots and lamb for Friday anyway, but I hadn't begun to plan how to make the lamb. Mushrooms are a stroke of genius that hadn't occurred to me while planning this particular food adventure. It's a good thing Yummy Books came to my rescue.
I think I'm going to have to drive out east to get fancy mushrooms, but the butcher shop I want to get the lamb from is out west. Blergh evil driving. Oh well. I'll do it for the tall one. He's been super stressed on his job hunt, so I think he deserves some fancy feasting.
If I spy any blood oranges at the uppity east side grocery store, I might try my hand at making a blood orange jello with panna cotta--something he had for dessert the last time we dressed up and went out to indulge our gluttony. Or we can just eat girl scout cookies.
He also requested bacon and waffles on Saturday morning. That's definitely a food-want I can resolve without any extra stress or expense on my part. I do love that he also has simple tastes.
Well, I think this wonky-stomached individual is going to fill a bath and soak while listening to an audiobook. I may even do a little lesson writing for work since I brought some home.
Saturday, February 2, 2013
Spiced Molasses Muffins
Cooking Light put out a recipe called Tuscan Lemon Muffins. They are some of the lightest, fluffiest, flakiest muffins I have ever eaten. Pure genius. I give credit to two things: the use of ricotta cheese in the recipe and large quantities of baking powder (double what you see in a lot of other muffin recipes).
I could eat a creamy, lemon muffin every day. And yet it seems like such a nuisance to go buy a lemon to make them.
Enter cupboard ingredient I need to find a use for--molasses. Don't get me wrong, I love molasses. I actually drizzle it on a fried egg over-medium, sprinkle a little cayenne pepper on top. It's like pure heaven of sweet, spicy, creamy goodness with the earthy bitter aftertaste of the molasses cut by the creamy egg. It's one of my favorite things.
Unfortunately, not all molasses is made alike. My breakfast egg is best served with Brer Rabbit Mild, but my grocery store was out, so I bought Grandma's Original--the only molasses they had that day. It's a good molasses, but not for eating so exposed on an egg. The bitter aftertaste is more than I can take, so it's been sitting in the back of the cupboard, waiting for some other use. I keep thinking I should bake it into bread.
Yesterday, I ate my last little cup of lemony, muffiny heaven, and I decided the next batch of muffins should be made with molasses, but as I perused muffin recipes, I noticed that a lot of the muffins made with molasses looked dense--not puffy and fluffy like I would prefer.
So I thougth to myself, what would happen if I applied some of the principles of the Tuscan Lemon Muffin to the concept of a Ginger Molasses Muffin?
It turns out, I am totally out of ginger, so I had to deviate on the spices quite a bit. I also spent quite a bit of time reading about baking powder and baking soda to decide how much I wanted to include in my recipe. I asked myself questions like "Do I need to add vinegar to have some of the effect that the lemon juice has in the lemon muffins?"
After some slight pondering, I rushed in and just did whatever I wanted. The end result was amazing. It's taking so much self control not to eat another right now.
Here's the recipe:
Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Line a 12-cup muffin tin with paper cups and spray with a non-stick spray.
In a large bowl, mix together:
Bake for about 25 minutes, or until a toothpick comes back clean. Remove hot muffins from the pan and allow to cool on a wire rack. Eat at least one while it's still warm.
If they're anything like the lemon muffins, they'll be best over time if frozen, then popped in the microwave for 30 seconds when you want to eat in the morning (my microwave takes a whole minute, but it's...special).
Today's muffin adventure also inspired what I'm hoping to call a "Chai Tea Muffin," but I'll wait to report on that until after I actually venture to make it--think an increase in the spice level, changing out the milk for cooled black tea (brewed dark), and replacing the molasses with a lesser quanity of honey. Mmmmmm.
I could eat a creamy, lemon muffin every day. And yet it seems like such a nuisance to go buy a lemon to make them.
Enter cupboard ingredient I need to find a use for--molasses. Don't get me wrong, I love molasses. I actually drizzle it on a fried egg over-medium, sprinkle a little cayenne pepper on top. It's like pure heaven of sweet, spicy, creamy goodness with the earthy bitter aftertaste of the molasses cut by the creamy egg. It's one of my favorite things.
Unfortunately, not all molasses is made alike. My breakfast egg is best served with Brer Rabbit Mild, but my grocery store was out, so I bought Grandma's Original--the only molasses they had that day. It's a good molasses, but not for eating so exposed on an egg. The bitter aftertaste is more than I can take, so it's been sitting in the back of the cupboard, waiting for some other use. I keep thinking I should bake it into bread.
Yesterday, I ate my last little cup of lemony, muffiny heaven, and I decided the next batch of muffins should be made with molasses, but as I perused muffin recipes, I noticed that a lot of the muffins made with molasses looked dense--not puffy and fluffy like I would prefer.
So I thougth to myself, what would happen if I applied some of the principles of the Tuscan Lemon Muffin to the concept of a Ginger Molasses Muffin?
It turns out, I am totally out of ginger, so I had to deviate on the spices quite a bit. I also spent quite a bit of time reading about baking powder and baking soda to decide how much I wanted to include in my recipe. I asked myself questions like "Do I need to add vinegar to have some of the effect that the lemon juice has in the lemon muffins?"
After some slight pondering, I rushed in and just did whatever I wanted. The end result was amazing. It's taking so much self control not to eat another right now.
Here's the recipe:
Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Line a 12-cup muffin tin with paper cups and spray with a non-stick spray.
In a large bowl, mix together:
- 2 cups flour (I used 1 cup all purpose and 1 cup whole wheat).
- 3/4 cup sugar
- 2 tsp baking powder
- 1/4 tsp baking soda
- 1/4 tsp salt
- 1/2 tsp cardamom
- 1 tsp cinnamon
- 1/2 tsp nutmeg
- 1/8 tsp clove
- 1 large egg
- 1/4 cup oil
- 1/2 cup milk
- 3/4 cup ricotta
- 1/2 cup molasses
Bake for about 25 minutes, or until a toothpick comes back clean. Remove hot muffins from the pan and allow to cool on a wire rack. Eat at least one while it's still warm.
If they're anything like the lemon muffins, they'll be best over time if frozen, then popped in the microwave for 30 seconds when you want to eat in the morning (my microwave takes a whole minute, but it's...special).
Today's muffin adventure also inspired what I'm hoping to call a "Chai Tea Muffin," but I'll wait to report on that until after I actually venture to make it--think an increase in the spice level, changing out the milk for cooled black tea (brewed dark), and replacing the molasses with a lesser quanity of honey. Mmmmmm.
Tuesday, January 15, 2013
Off Beat with the City
Bundled up, I am a rainbow: yellow coat, pink hat, gloves in two shades of blue. I have a green backpack. I'm ready to brave the cold and ride my bike to work.
I hop on my bike, begin to pedal. No soft clicking. The chain is off. I'm immobile.
I hop off, pull at the chain, and snap it back onto the gear. On again, click-click-click-click, the soft sounds of the gears pick up pace until they whirrrrrrrr, and I race to get to work, to make up for the brief delay of the off-chain.
Click-click-click-click, the tempo increases, but the sense of urgency is pulled back, slowed, by the soft huuuuh, of each panting breath. Click-click-click-click-huuuuuuuuuuuuh.
The rhythm is Zen, and I'm lost in it. I can't even hear the irregular wuuuuusssh of the cars passing by because there's only the clicking and panting. All other sounds are blocked out. The blood rushing through my ears denies them entry.
But the light up ahead turns yellow. I stop pedalling and the click is silenced, but my breath is still going...huuuuuuuuuuuuh, pause, huuuuuuuuuuuuh.
I squeeze the brakes kshhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. The noises of the city regain hold--all sounds of the movement of cars. No birds. No wind stirring grass or trees. I alone seem to be living in the concrete and rubber and metal.
A small man, wearing all blacks and greys, shrunken into himself with the cold, crosses the street, and as he steps up onto the sidewalk in front of me he looks up and says, "Don't ride too fast now." He smiles. I smile. Though silent, the smiles sing, they blare joy as loud as any trumpet. Two races, two classes, two genders, two ages--two worlds in fact, but this man is my neighbor, and I love him for silencing the city with his smile.
He continues down the sidewalk, and the cars resume their insect buzzing. The light changes. Cliiiick-cliick-click-click-click-click-huuuuuuuuuuuuh. Gone is the city once again. There is only me, the pumping of my calves, and the rushing of my blood.
But a few blocks later a light goes amber, kshhhhh. An abrupt cutoff of my inner beat. I focus on the orange hand, telling me not cross, holding my pause. This light is my conductor, and I am frozen until it releases me to continue the song.
Beebeeeeeeep! I look right to see the driver of an SUV waving at me and pulling up along the curb nearest my bike and me. I think he needs directions, so I unstraddle my bike and walk over.
"I've seen you before. And I wanted to stop because I didn't think I'd see you again. My name is Akeem. Can I give you my number?"
I'm awkward so I take the torn corner of a book cover with his number hastily written on the inside and find myself offering my own name and number. I am not interested in a date, but I have an irrational fear of confrontation, so I default to being congenial even when I just want to mind my own business and maintain seeming invisibility.
He drives on. I look up. The orange hand tells me to stay where I am. I missed my cue and must wait through another light.
When I resume pedalling there is no click, no panting, no rushing blood. The city has broken my song with intruding thoughts of "I should have said no." The words sever the beats of my rhythm all day.
When I ride home, the halting thoughts are still there, alongside an urgency to outpace the fading sunlight. There is no music for this ride, so loud are my worries. As I pedal the last block, in my rainbow of winter gear, the unsettling knock of "I should have said no; I need to get home" is interrupted by a long deliberate haaaaaahaahaaaahaaaaaaaa.
A head stuck out the window of a red truck is laughing at me. What do they find so funny? Do they think because I'm riding a bike in the cold that I cannot afford a car? Is that funny? It shouldn't be. Regardless, I am riding a bike in the cold because it is good. My blood is flowing. I am healthy. No noxious fumes do I throw in the air.
No matter. I am feet from my door. The ride is over. The day is done. The city has won, and its song is in my head--a steady drumming of anger offset by irregular taps of anxiety.
My beat is off from this city. My rhythm cannot move here, cannot play out a song.
I hop on my bike, begin to pedal. No soft clicking. The chain is off. I'm immobile.
I hop off, pull at the chain, and snap it back onto the gear. On again, click-click-click-click, the soft sounds of the gears pick up pace until they whirrrrrrrr, and I race to get to work, to make up for the brief delay of the off-chain.
Click-click-click-click, the tempo increases, but the sense of urgency is pulled back, slowed, by the soft huuuuh, of each panting breath. Click-click-click-click-huuuuuuuuuuuuh.
The rhythm is Zen, and I'm lost in it. I can't even hear the irregular wuuuuusssh of the cars passing by because there's only the clicking and panting. All other sounds are blocked out. The blood rushing through my ears denies them entry.
But the light up ahead turns yellow. I stop pedalling and the click is silenced, but my breath is still going...huuuuuuuuuuuuh, pause, huuuuuuuuuuuuh.
I squeeze the brakes kshhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. The noises of the city regain hold--all sounds of the movement of cars. No birds. No wind stirring grass or trees. I alone seem to be living in the concrete and rubber and metal.
A small man, wearing all blacks and greys, shrunken into himself with the cold, crosses the street, and as he steps up onto the sidewalk in front of me he looks up and says, "Don't ride too fast now." He smiles. I smile. Though silent, the smiles sing, they blare joy as loud as any trumpet. Two races, two classes, two genders, two ages--two worlds in fact, but this man is my neighbor, and I love him for silencing the city with his smile.
He continues down the sidewalk, and the cars resume their insect buzzing. The light changes. Cliiiick-cliick-click-click-click-click-huuuuuuuuuuuuh. Gone is the city once again. There is only me, the pumping of my calves, and the rushing of my blood.
But a few blocks later a light goes amber, kshhhhh. An abrupt cutoff of my inner beat. I focus on the orange hand, telling me not cross, holding my pause. This light is my conductor, and I am frozen until it releases me to continue the song.
Beebeeeeeeep! I look right to see the driver of an SUV waving at me and pulling up along the curb nearest my bike and me. I think he needs directions, so I unstraddle my bike and walk over.
"I've seen you before. And I wanted to stop because I didn't think I'd see you again. My name is Akeem. Can I give you my number?"
I'm awkward so I take the torn corner of a book cover with his number hastily written on the inside and find myself offering my own name and number. I am not interested in a date, but I have an irrational fear of confrontation, so I default to being congenial even when I just want to mind my own business and maintain seeming invisibility.
He drives on. I look up. The orange hand tells me to stay where I am. I missed my cue and must wait through another light.
When I resume pedalling there is no click, no panting, no rushing blood. The city has broken my song with intruding thoughts of "I should have said no." The words sever the beats of my rhythm all day.
When I ride home, the halting thoughts are still there, alongside an urgency to outpace the fading sunlight. There is no music for this ride, so loud are my worries. As I pedal the last block, in my rainbow of winter gear, the unsettling knock of "I should have said no; I need to get home" is interrupted by a long deliberate haaaaaahaahaaaahaaaaaaaa.
A head stuck out the window of a red truck is laughing at me. What do they find so funny? Do they think because I'm riding a bike in the cold that I cannot afford a car? Is that funny? It shouldn't be. Regardless, I am riding a bike in the cold because it is good. My blood is flowing. I am healthy. No noxious fumes do I throw in the air.
No matter. I am feet from my door. The ride is over. The day is done. The city has won, and its song is in my head--a steady drumming of anger offset by irregular taps of anxiety.
My beat is off from this city. My rhythm cannot move here, cannot play out a song.
Saturday, January 5, 2013
Updating My Five Goals
New Year's Resolutions, by nature, are usually about self-improvement. People want to lose weight, or read more. I'm okay with that, except on those issues I'm pretty happy right where I am.
I have in the past, however, kept five goals going at any one point in time. Last year I abandoned those goals. My goals were difficult to complete, things that required changes of habit that should be ongoing--essentially resolutions. And like New Year's Resolutions, my goals were doomed to failure.
So this year, my only resolution is to change how I set my goals. I will only set small measurable goals. There will always be five goals because I am sure there will always be five good things I could be doing.
So here are the goals I have in mind thus far:
1. Recycle old electronics. I have a box of archaic cell phones, digital cameras, and random cords to nothing that I have been moving from apartment to apartment for about five years. I've just added a twenty-some-year-old TV which cannot produce sound to the junk pile. (Ask me about my elaborate sound-rigging that kept that TV in action anyway. Like any cheap-skate, I'm insanely proud of my ludicrous work-around.) Anywho, with a TV now on my living room floor, I need to finally haul the e-junk off. (I'm also going to need some help. The TV is quite large.)
2. Read classic books I have never read. This goal has the nature of being ongoing and unmeasurable, so I am tasking myself with assigning one classic at the beginning of each month. I expect myself to read 2-3 books a month, so one classic won't kill me. I can still devote the larger percentage of my reading efforts to science fiction.
3. Volunteer for something. I haven't decided what yet, but I need to find a way to do external good. About a year ago, I looked into Big Brothers, Big Sisters and similar programs to see if I could get involved in tutoring or anything, but with a long-distance relationship that requires regular out-of-town travel, I couldn't commit to something that needed all my weekends. I could volunteer grant-write for one of these programs, but I genuinely miss tutoring because I like having exposure to people that I never imagined existed. I should probably ask around at schools and the libraries.
4. Bake something new. I keep telling myself I will branch out into pastries or some such, but I haven't done a darned thing. Like reading, I might set this as monthly or biweekly (fortnightly) goal and assign myself with a new dish to bake each period.
5. Take my cat to the vet. My cat lives a very secluded life. I don't let her outside (letting her outside in this Downtown environment would be a bad idea, but I didn't let her outside when we lived in smaller towns in residential neighborhoods--mostly because she is incompetant at being catlike). I've always figured I didn't really need to force her to go through the torment of visiting a vet because she has exposure to nothing, but I also freak out and get paranoid when I think she's sick. I'd feel much better if we had a kitty doctor I felt comfortable with that I could go to when she feels down and out. If I need to get my generally quarantined cat vaccinated to foster such a relationship, so be it.
I have some other goals in mind that can replace 1, 3, and 5 when I get those done, but it's not worth planning ahead too far. No need to overwhelm myself--I do tend to exihibit a certain degree of laziness that I need to account for.
I have in the past, however, kept five goals going at any one point in time. Last year I abandoned those goals. My goals were difficult to complete, things that required changes of habit that should be ongoing--essentially resolutions. And like New Year's Resolutions, my goals were doomed to failure.
So this year, my only resolution is to change how I set my goals. I will only set small measurable goals. There will always be five goals because I am sure there will always be five good things I could be doing.
So here are the goals I have in mind thus far:
1. Recycle old electronics. I have a box of archaic cell phones, digital cameras, and random cords to nothing that I have been moving from apartment to apartment for about five years. I've just added a twenty-some-year-old TV which cannot produce sound to the junk pile. (Ask me about my elaborate sound-rigging that kept that TV in action anyway. Like any cheap-skate, I'm insanely proud of my ludicrous work-around.) Anywho, with a TV now on my living room floor, I need to finally haul the e-junk off. (I'm also going to need some help. The TV is quite large.)
2. Read classic books I have never read. This goal has the nature of being ongoing and unmeasurable, so I am tasking myself with assigning one classic at the beginning of each month. I expect myself to read 2-3 books a month, so one classic won't kill me. I can still devote the larger percentage of my reading efforts to science fiction.
3. Volunteer for something. I haven't decided what yet, but I need to find a way to do external good. About a year ago, I looked into Big Brothers, Big Sisters and similar programs to see if I could get involved in tutoring or anything, but with a long-distance relationship that requires regular out-of-town travel, I couldn't commit to something that needed all my weekends. I could volunteer grant-write for one of these programs, but I genuinely miss tutoring because I like having exposure to people that I never imagined existed. I should probably ask around at schools and the libraries.
4. Bake something new. I keep telling myself I will branch out into pastries or some such, but I haven't done a darned thing. Like reading, I might set this as monthly or biweekly (fortnightly) goal and assign myself with a new dish to bake each period.
5. Take my cat to the vet. My cat lives a very secluded life. I don't let her outside (letting her outside in this Downtown environment would be a bad idea, but I didn't let her outside when we lived in smaller towns in residential neighborhoods--mostly because she is incompetant at being catlike). I've always figured I didn't really need to force her to go through the torment of visiting a vet because she has exposure to nothing, but I also freak out and get paranoid when I think she's sick. I'd feel much better if we had a kitty doctor I felt comfortable with that I could go to when she feels down and out. If I need to get my generally quarantined cat vaccinated to foster such a relationship, so be it.
I have some other goals in mind that can replace 1, 3, and 5 when I get those done, but it's not worth planning ahead too far. No need to overwhelm myself--I do tend to exihibit a certain degree of laziness that I need to account for.
Tuesday, January 1, 2013
2013 Resolutions
I started 2013 with style.
Some people blow kazoos to bring in the new year. I was blowing my nose.
The new year is brought in with fancy drinks and champagne. I had camomile tea with honey and lemon.
It's supposed to be spent with loved ones and friends. My favorite person was curled up under a pile of blankets hacking his lungs out, but he was here.
I'm tired. I have things I need to get done at work, but I don't feel at all ready to return.
The idea of setting any New Year's Resolutions seems stupid. I just want to be able to breathe through my nose.
Some people blow kazoos to bring in the new year. I was blowing my nose.
The new year is brought in with fancy drinks and champagne. I had camomile tea with honey and lemon.
It's supposed to be spent with loved ones and friends. My favorite person was curled up under a pile of blankets hacking his lungs out, but he was here.
I'm tired. I have things I need to get done at work, but I don't feel at all ready to return.
The idea of setting any New Year's Resolutions seems stupid. I just want to be able to breathe through my nose.
Thursday, December 27, 2012
Mac and Cheese Feet
Tall Other and I are making mac and cheese...with shells and fancy cheese. It's presently in the oven.
I don't think I want to eat it, which is weird. I'll eat anything.
We made this Addictive Mac and Cheese Recipe. It has a key ingredient I believe in for mac and cheese--nutmeg. It also uses a lot of milk. We substituted some half-and-half for some of the milk because I believe mac and cheese should be death by calories and fat.
Chris picked the cheeses--a fancy gruyere and sharp white cheddar (the recipe gives options). This is where I think we went astray. The gruyere smells and tastes like rotting feet to me. It's tainting the entire recipe.
I tried the creamy, beautiful looking cheese sauce...yuck, just yuck. It's a mouthful of athlete's foot as far as I'm concerned.
Chris thinks it smells and tastes wonderful. I'm questioning his judgment as a gourmand. I'm also really sad that he'll be eating mac and cheese, and I will be eating leftovers.
Sad face.
I don't think I want to eat it, which is weird. I'll eat anything.
We made this Addictive Mac and Cheese Recipe. It has a key ingredient I believe in for mac and cheese--nutmeg. It also uses a lot of milk. We substituted some half-and-half for some of the milk because I believe mac and cheese should be death by calories and fat.
Chris picked the cheeses--a fancy gruyere and sharp white cheddar (the recipe gives options). This is where I think we went astray. The gruyere smells and tastes like rotting feet to me. It's tainting the entire recipe.
I tried the creamy, beautiful looking cheese sauce...yuck, just yuck. It's a mouthful of athlete's foot as far as I'm concerned.
Chris thinks it smells and tastes wonderful. I'm questioning his judgment as a gourmand. I'm also really sad that he'll be eating mac and cheese, and I will be eating leftovers.
Sad face.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)