Admittance is the first step to recovery, right? What if I don’t want to recover? What if I want to wallow around in it and let it progress to the point that I can never, ever, in a million years get better? It seems that I no longer have the ability to do your basic mac-n-cheese. When I cook, I get cooky. For instance, on New Year’s Eve, I knocked myself out with this feast:
I don’t appear to have any pics of the veggies, but they were there as well. Here you can see the grilled shrimp:
…the yellowfin, sashimi and seared:
…and my crowning achievement; the grilled calamari, drizzled with my home-made wasabi mayonaise:
Good lawdy, that was good! Of course, it was all served with plenty of rice, and sauteed snow peas and Thai eggplant. I typically hate eggplant. It’s always that gorgeous shade of purple and smells wonderful, but I have an aversion to smooshy vegetables. The Thai variety is green and crunchy. It sautees very nicely and stays crisp like vegetables should. This is my style of cooking. My dishes like to make a splash. I don’t feel I have made my point unless there is a room full of people silently eating, taking seconds, analyzing each bite, and cleaning out whatever it is that I’ve prepared. It’s like painting or sculpting. There you have it.
This evening, I decided to grill hot dogs. Yes. Nice, simple hot dogs. Hmm. I started with whole wheat buns and 1/4-lb all-beef franks. Add a little Maille stone ground mustard…
Yes, folks. That is a slice of bacon on my hot dog. I’m hopeless. I may as well commit myself. At least I’ll die fat and happy…