Tonight I drink and eat in their honor.
Bacon, garlic, scallions, red bell pepper, the last of the garden spinach. Pasta. Newcastle. I’m living high on the hog.I dream of a hard and brutal mysticism in which the naked self merges with a non-human world and yet somehow survives still intact, individual, separate. Paradox and bedrock.
Tonight I drink and eat in their honor.
Bacon, garlic, scallions, red bell pepper, the last of the garden spinach. Pasta. Newcastle. I’m living high on the hog.Newcastle! Nice! Politics out – mountain biking in! Government out, mountain biking in! For “those who seek,” mountain biking in! See you either at the Vision Quest or this Sunday for a ride over the Hill. Amigo……..
Sunday fo shiz, yo.
If you ever publish a cookbook I’d buy a copy. Why on earth why did you NOT become a chef? ;-)
Matt -he didn’t become a chef because he doesn’t want to measure.Chefs have to have ideas and then turn them into set recipes with measurements and times so that other people, either kitchen staffs at restaurants, or end users of cook books or television shows, can successfully re-make the same items.D pulls shit out of the fridge throws it in a pan and then eats it… even when he comes home tired from a ride and asks me to make him food he can’t give me any sort of detail on how or how much to cook so I can make what he wants well.Like his pizza dough is sometimes great and sometimes a little less so, because he never measures or pays much attention to how much of what he puts in, presuming he’ll straighten it all out when he adds more or less flour later, which is pretty obnoxious when he asks me to get it started and can’t give me, even the most remotely specific instructions on whether I should add a tablespoon or a cup of yeast – I’d be surprised if he even knew the different between a tablespoon and a cup.Anyway…
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