Here’s the deal, then. I’ve nailed down a bunch of recipes now that I’m pretty comfortable with. I’ve got burgers down. I’m good with mac and cheese, papaya salad, prime rib, chili, sloppy Joes. I can make eggs that’ll jump up off the plate and kick your teeth in. I’ve got a canon forming.
It’s like this: I’m slowly developing what I consider to be “my” versions of certain recipes. These are recipes that, by and large, I’m happy with. Last couple of weeks I’ve nailed down recipes for chili and Sloppy Joes — these are not ultimate recipes in an objective sense, but they’re recipes that I’d make again following the same recipe I put forth.
On the other hand, when I turn to Twitter and I say, “Hello, excellent humans of Twitter, please bequeath unto me the essential ingredients to chili,” I get a flood of great answers. What did I learn? Well, I learned that chili recipes are as individual as the people who make it.
I thought, “Mmm, macaroni and cheese.” I have a recipe I use, and lo, it is good. But then I thought, “What would make this recipe double-awesome? What would make this recipe do keg-stands on my taste-buds? Sausage.”
But one drinky-drink I’m not well-versed in is bourbon. Few times I’ve had it in the past I found it to be a lot harsher than Scotch — instead of smooth and warm we’re talking razors boiled in distilled water — but that tells me I’m just not drinking the right stuff.
In an act of minor culinary stunting, I decided it was high time to sweeten up some bacon and stick its ass into some chocolate. The result was a kind of sublime not before witnessed at Christmas time. And yes, I include the birth of Jesus in that.
It’s okay, he feels the same way.