As a companion to yesterday’s dredged chicken, I’d like to offer you an idea for a side dish that can be made in MINUTES and is delicious – Mediterranean Orzo. I made this a few nights ago with my lovely sister, Emily, based on the pretense that I had very little in my fridge and didn’t feel like going to the store. The great thing about this dish is that it requires no cooking other than boiling the pasta and can be changed in lots of ways based on what you are serving with it. On this particular night I went with a Mediterranean flavor profile because, again, I had little else in my fridge. Here’s what I did:
We’re sharing recipes now!
If you have eyes and have read anything on this blog for more than 5 seconds you probably know that we like food. A lot. To the point that one of us used to be obese and has nothing left to show for it but budding A-cup man-boobs.
Lindsay didn’t used to be fat.
Anyways, we thought we’d share our love of food and cooking with you on our new food page! Here we’ll post recipes, ideas for entertaining, restaurant reviews, and other ramblings that you probably have no interest in. Up first….
What is WITH former comedians being obsessed with taking pictures of themselves pretending to be gay or overly effeminate?
I want answers*, people.
This is my cute boyfriend eating dinner that he made for me while I was slaving away at my Corporate Professional Position and going to school.
Dinner was fabulous. Homeboy can cook. I don’t understand the picture, though.
After he pulled this crap I told him to get his ass back in the kitchen where he **belonged.
Love and kisses and healthy relationships,
*The comments section is where you can tell me what the deal is with this picture-taking phenomenon. Please help me understand.
**You know I have nothing against gay people, I just don’t want to be dating one. Also, I’m not implying that gay men should cook. ALL men should cook. Calm down.
Sunday nights can mean lots of things for lots of people. Some families spend them together preparing for the week. Workaholics spend a few hours on their laptop/iPad/Blackberry/Droid/desktop (really?)/VM/remote server/VPN/iPhone (okay, enough) getting a head start on the work week. Moms do laundry; kids in college recover from a weekend of binge-drinking and sleep deprivation. I drink copious amounts of boxed wine and cook unhealthy food while listening to stories about Jay growing up as a fat kid.
Last night was no different, and I have NO CLUE what we were talking about when he said “Wait, have I never told you the story about when I got hung by my underwear from a tree at camp?”
You have my attention….
Um, no, darling, you have not.
This, friends, was my entertainment during dinner last night. At one point in the story I demanded violently that Jay stop talking while I turned on my computer and took notes.
Yep, notes. It was really good. I didn’t want to forget anything due to the copious amounts of wine I may or may not have been drinking. It’s really lucky that, unlike those college kids, I know when enough is enough on the night before a new week of work and school starts. Well, it would be lucky, if that were the case (sorry, Mama).
Ok, let’s travel back to 8th grade. Jay was still very fat and had extremely low self-esteem. The problem was, he had a comic’s brain and a fat boy body – a combination that tended to get him into trouble. He went to camp for one month and one evening on some sort of a walk/hike/sleepoutsideordeal he was getting made fun of by the camp counselor and his fellow campers for being fat, doughy, pale, mildly effeminate, having massive breasts, etc.
He is none of those things now.
Um, wait, the COUNSELOR was making fun of him? I didn’t say anything and let him continue.
“I snapped and said SHUT THE F*CK UP (sorry, Daddy) and stuck a FORK in his leg. Rightly pissed, the counselor assisted in instructing the campers in giving me a massive wedgie that borderlined on atomic, and hung me by my underwear by a tree stub where I hung for about two hours until my Fruit of the Looms snapped and the tree branch slid into my back and gashed up my spine until I hit the ground. I had to walk all the way back to camp alone, defeated.”
“I feel two feet. On my ass. With a huge slit up my spine.”
Now, at this point I would like you to envision a slightly chubby, slightly sunburned blonde girl nearly vomiting with laughter while trying to continue inhaling penne with tomato cream sauce and herbs (I’ll teach you how to make that soon, promise), type furiously, and drink wine while not falling off the couch or spilling anything into her work-issued computer.
I am beautiful and poised, always.
As we continued down Memory Lane I discovered that Jay didn’t report the incident because he felt that he was to blame since stabbed the counselor in the leg with a FORK. I’m all for justice and punishment concerning anger management issues, but WHY was a counselor making fun of a 13 year old fat kid? His name was Dan, apparently. I hope Dan is fat and mocked now. I also pondered the difference between girls and boys at that age – girls would have RUN to tattle on the counselor, the campers, the squirrels in the vicinity who didn’t report the incident sooner – ANYONE. Boys operate a little differently.
Even today I feel bad for that fat kid dangling two feet in the air by his undies. He was really cute in an innocent….asexual way – I’ve seen pictures. Luckily, Jay is skinny now and can blame me for any and all weight gain incurred, because we have a relationship of mutual respect in which he requests something healthy and light for dinner and I remind him that 1. I’m cooking, 2. Bad food tastes better, 3. I bought the ingredients and 4. His opinion matters very little to me and will he please take out the trash since he’s whining?
He’s a lucky man. I heart him for putting up with my crap.
On a side note, I went and ate dinner Friday night at the restaurant where Jay works. His coworker/friend/attractive other server took one look at me and said “is that the crazy girl from the blog?”
Yep, in the flesh.
Happy Monday, everyone!