You are now going to make beef stew. With short ribs. Don’t argue with me. We don’t have time for your mewling pleas and jibbering jabbers. The Devil and his consort will be here soon. For dinner. And they expect to be fed, by golly. What are you going to tell him? Are you going to look jolly ol’ Lucifer in the eye and say, “Hey, sorry, Lucy old chap, I was too busy?”
It’s time for another NSFW recipe. This time: sausage, apples and pasta in brown butter sauce. It’s delicious. I mean, it’ll fucking kill you. You’ll eat this and a great big cholesterol-laden ball will lodge in your heart and you’ll seize up but fuck it, you’ll gurgle and coo happily while perishing. Ready? OPEN YOUR MOUTH AND YOUR MIND.
I will now make love to your mouth. Uhh. Let’s try that again: Let my meat make love to your mouth. Hrm. Okay, forget all that, what I’m trying to say is, I’m going to give you now three recipes, and these three recipes will comprise your dinner at some point this week. Trust me, […]
*slides glass of whiskey over* There. That one’s on the house. Fact: writers drink. Every writer drinks. Total boozemonkeys to the last. Sure, you say, “But I don’t drink,” except, you probably do. You don’t drink, then you might not be a real writer. Being a real writer isn’t about how much you write in a day or how many books you’ve published. It’s about how big your liver is.
Anybody out there eating low-carb? Even if you’re not, I could use some recipes. Breakfast, lunch, dinner, snacks, whatever. (For the record, I don’t eat much processed food, which means no faux-sugars. I like stevia well enough, but the aftertaste makes me think I’ve been licking a battery coated in pulverized aspirin.)
No, what I’m saying is, I know that you can make all kinds of stuff on a grill that you wouldn’t normally think. Pizza. Desserts. Dishes fancier than, “CHAR FLESH UNTIL SATISFIED.” So: what do you make on your grill that goes beyond the norm?