My lofty goal this week is to not eat out until Friday.
Two reasons: one, money. Two, that eternal goal of trying to get to 130. I’ve maintained here at 150 since December, which is great, but I’d like to dump altitude if at all possible.
It helps that I’m 1,000 words from a first draft of “Sound Reason”. And writing that is making me want to write other things.
The boyfriend bought an XBox…for my house. Not for me, mind you, though since it is at my house and I am his girlfriend I will be using it (oh yes). But, you see, I am the type of person who says dinner will be ready at 7 when she really means 8, and I do not slight the boyfriend wanting to do something while I’m in the kitchen clattering pans and stirring veggies.
I am not a fun person to be around when I am cooking. I am no Mario Batali. There are a million ways to make food right, and I have my predetermined paths. When someone wanders into my space and tries to tell me how I should be doing things — well intentioned or not — I get a bit…testy. It is really just best to let me succeed or fail all on my own, and if I need help, I’ll ask for it.
That said, last night’s pork barbeque was fantastic. My Mom’s recipe, a family favorite. A slow-roasted pork roast (or picnic shoulder, because that was what was on sale), liberally seasoned with salt, pepper, and Worcestershire, braised in a couple scant cups of liquid on a bed of onions. Picked of its meat when it’s falling apart, fat, bone, and skin discarded. Then quickly reheated with a sauce that’s equal ratios of strained and defatted pan juices, cider vinegar, and brown sugar (in this case, 1 1/2 cups of sauce). Because I can’t not fiddle, I also added a pinch of red pepper flake to the juice/vinegar/sugar blend. It’s ready when it stops being soup and only a little bit of liquid is left in the pan. Serve that on a bun with coleslaw and hot sauce…yum.
5 responses so far ↓
Love the site’s new look, sis-o!
I’m totally like you in the kitchen. I wish people would butt out and let me regale them with my successes and failures even if it’s just a bowl of ramen with strange toppings. The only person I interact well with is Tracy, likely from growing up together in a galley kitchen the size of a thimble. But outside of the few dinners we had at my place when she was still here, my kitchen is OFF LIMITS if I’m cooking!!!1!!
On the flip side, I can almost not cook unless someone’s in there keeping me company, preferably Bear. I don’t have the attention span to cook. If someone’s talking to me, I’ll stay in there and be attentive.
Other than that, food burns and boils over because I wander off.
Glad to see you’re writing again, Steph!
At least you have an excuse, Gryph. Food burns and boils over as I’m =staring= at it. I pity the poor person who inherits this stove when I move out. It used to be white…
I’m with Babs… get out of my way, unless you actually can be helpful. I’ve actually done pretty well with both Kathy and Tim (Tolli and Verse) in the kitchen, especially during the NorCal gather where we were steaming 16 live dungeness crabs and grilling marinated fresh artichokes.
No one ever wanders into a kitchen when I’m cooking. Could it be the flailing cleavers of doom?
I don’t think my cherubs could learn to cook from me. As far as they knew, food just magically appeared ready-to-eat on a plate.
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