Does a stage of pregnancy exist which demands that the pregnant woman make cookies? Is it a biological imperative of which I am unaware? No matter, I suppose, because this imperative is here whether it is common or rare: it seems my wife is hellbound to make cookies this Christmas.
Autumn’s coming, and with that season comes a hunger for all beer, all the time. Any beer goes well during the season. Autumn gets all the weather — the heat of summer moves into the warm and cool of spring, finally transitioning into the cold snap of winter, and during this time, I love me some goddamn beer.
And I thought, you know what I enjoy at restaurants? Lettuce wraps. Give me a leaf from a head of green leaf lettuce, put some delicious crap in there, and I will eat it like some kind of madman taco — the crunch, the crispness, that slightly bitter tang of the lettuce. Yeah. Yes. I wanted that.
My bowels tighten in fear of the day when we start seeing some kind of TGI Friday chain version of the speakeasy, some empty scrotum of a restaurant, some pre-fab bullshit that serves something called “Prohibition Poppers” without any sense of irony or understanding. They’ll call it, I dunno, Bobo Capone’s or some bullshit.
And while many of you might be nursing a beer all day, me, I wanna drink some goddamn cocktails. Why? Well, because the cocktail is an American convention. Sure, someone else probably invented the mixed drink, but the term “cocktail,” and the popularity of said cocktails, are all distinctly American.
So, today’s question, which is really more of a command statement:
Give me a recipe.
I need some new recipes. I have too many cookbooks and about a billion back issues of cooking magazines, and it’s getting hard to filter all that stuff out. I’d rather have targeted recipes from people I trust. Or, at least, people I happen to have Rufied into compliance.