I'm sorry your hand is hurting so much now, but the thing that strikes me about that post is that even with a bandaid on, you have really nice hands. Elegant, like.
Mine are not so nice. They just look functional. Like ears or something. Not to say that my hands look like ears, just that they have that we're here to do a job kind of quality, like ears do.
See?
Unmistakably the hand of a person who is descended from a long line of washerwomen or perhaps potato gleaners.
But back to the topic at hand. ha!
I sometimes cut myself up in the kitchen. And even though these cuts sometimes bleed a lot and hurt a lot, they never seem to leave any scars.
Except, of course, for the scar that was left behind when I was making pavlova for my grandmother's birthday, and when putting the metal beater attachments in the hand held beater, turned it on before I had fully extracted my hand. I was eleven or twelve at the time, and a pretty big spazz, I think its fair to say. The beaters started beating, slicing in to my middle finger and abruptly stopped when it hit the bone. It turned out to be a nice clean cut and so after a few stitches, it healed up good and proper. All that's left now is a very very faint horizontal scar that you can't really see in the photo below.
LB bought me some Global knives for Christmas. After a lifetime of mediocre knives I was not really prepared for their super sharpness. I'd used them before, Global knives, but somehow having them in my own kitchen made it different. I was too relaxed, I guess, and the first time I used them, while chopping some green thing, I sliced off a small piece of the tip of my left pointer finger. Not the tip, exactly, a small piece from the very top right corner of the finger. It started bleeding hard and fast and through the bleeding I couldn't see exactly the damage that had been done. And I couldn't look at it. I wrapped the finger in paper towel and eventually when the sick feeling went away I looked and I guess it wasn't so bad. When it healed it left that part of my finger a little flatter than before.
I was pretty careful after that. Yes siree. But yesterday in a hurry, chopping chives, I sliced the tip of my finger off again. Not the tip, exactly, a small piece from the very top right corner of the finger. It didn't bleed at all and it didn't hurt. I just found the the piece of missing finger on the side of the knife. I still haven't looked at the wound but presumably after a a few more slices that part of my finger that keeps getting in the way of the knife won't exist anymore so that tip can't get in the way. I can't wait for that day! Oh yeah, and it hurts like a motherfucker now.
Can you believe it's already been a whole month since our first hunk of the month? How time flies! Since then, the days have become shorter and colder and Miss Soft Crab has turned its attention to wintery pleasures:
Woollen jumpers.
Pasta.
Double doonas.
And of course, Jimmy Bartel.
Now, we know that not everyone is in to football, and we respect that. In fact, we thought for about two minutes long and hard about whether Jimmy was a suitable choice for HotMC. The last thing we want is for the Crab community to feel alienated by our choice of hunk. But as J eventually reasoned:
a) HotMC is not a science, Mate, and I don't think it necessarily has to be the hottest hunk or anything like that;
b) If he is the guy that came up than he is the hunk of the month I say!
c) Celebrate diversity! We should have hunks from all walks of life;
d) Footy season is here, another reason he is an apt HotMC.
e) JIMMY! I effing love that guy
Quite right, Mate. Quite right.
So lets begin, shall we? I guess because he is a footballer, we should start with some stats.
Jimmy Bartel is a perfect 10! That's the only stat worth knowing.
Just jokes.
Jimmy is a 28-year-old hunk who grew up in Geelong and has been tearing it up at Cat Park since 2002. In addition to being a Brownlow medalist, Norm Smith medallist and triple premiership player, Jimmy is the most handsome man in the most handsome team in the AFL. Jimmy makes Max Rooke look like a carpet. Jimmy makes Joel Selwood look like an emu. Jimmy makes Tom Hawkins look like a man made from plasticine. In truth, Tom Hawkins is largely to blame for this too. But that Jimmy stands handsome head and handsome shoulders above all these other handsome men really says something about Jimmy. Of course, HotMC isn't just about what I think. Hot MC is a democracy. Take it away, Mate!
J: Geez. Jimmy Bartel. That guy is a really special guy. You can tell because, as you say, he stands out as super handsome in the AFL's handsomest club AND he looks good all the ways!
Like this:
With a beard, running
Like this:
Without a beard, running
Like this:
The original caption on this picture when we found it on the internet was "Some guy kissing Jimmy Bartel". Heh.
K: Whoa there. He sure does look good all the ways.Here is another one:
"Why no, Max, I haven't read Miss Soft Crab today. They said what now? HAHAHAHA. Oh Max. You do look bit like a carpet".
K: Personally, I love how Jimmy wears the long sleeved jumper. Football players do not seem to understand how good that looks, so few of them do it. Jimmy does it though. Covers those arms right up like he know he should.
J: Yeah, there is something super special about the way Jimmy wears the long sleeved jumper. Leaving a little to the imagination ay, Jimmy? I also like how it suggests that he just wants to be warm and comfy. Man after my own heart.
K: There's no reason why a man can't be hot and practical. No reason at all!I bet he's got a wardrobe full of jumpers at home. I bet he knows exactly when and how to wear those soft woolly babies like a HotMC man should.
Here's an interesting Jimmy fact: despite being a Brownlow medalist, despite being a Norm Smith medalist, despite being the most handsome man in the AFL, Jimmy has never won the GFC Best and Fairest.
Um, you guys, he is the mother flipping fairest of them all!
J: HAHAHA! Yeah he is!
Another thing that is interesting about Jimmy as a hunk is that he is so different to a hunk like, say, Viggo, our inaugural MSC HotMC hunk. Viggo, of course, is a real hunk, a mature and hot man, Jimmy is more of your straight up PHWOAR hunk. And I think it is important to note that we have room in our hearts for every kind of hunk.
You know I spend a fair amount of time in the Geelong area and now and again I see a GFC player. Varcoe, Ling, Ottens, Steve Johnson, and every time I think, "why is it never Jimmy?" But, truth be told, I probably would barely be able to contain myself if I did.
K: Oh, I'm straight up sure I couldn't contain myself if I saw him in the wild. I got all giggly when I saw Nick Riewoldt at the Coles on Church Street one time, and he couldn't even make it on to the HotMC emergency substitute list.
Anyway, regardless of whether we ever get to test how apeshit we would go if we saw him in real life, I'm pretty sure I speak for both of us when I say, Jimmy Bartel, you are a top shelf hunk and I hope that damned girlfriend of yours knows how damned lucky she is goddamn it.
In truth, I also find the amount of fat British chefs put in their recipes quite inspirational.
For example, there is this recipe for black pepper tofu in the Ottolenghi book Plenty. Here it is in the internet. Hang on a sec, it actually looks more delicious in the book, let me just go get that and show you guys.
Looks good, right?
Every time I would flip through the book I would be drawn to this black pepper tofu because it looked so goddamn delicious. Hot. Spicy. Caramelly. But also kind of fresh because of the asian flavours, which no matter how hearty, always seem to make things taste fresh.
I made it recently.
Now you'd expect a bit of oil in something like this. No surprises there. But because Ottolenghi works out of England and therefore is kind of an English chef, the recipe also requires 150g of butter.
I followed the recipe because who am I to argue with Ottolenghi, and readers, the results were truly inspirational. As expected it is hot, spicy and caramelly, but also like the most delicious tofu you have ever had - better even than that kentucky fried tofu you used to be able to get from the Kum Den.
Now obviously it's not an everyday thing, but it sure is an inspirational little east-west mind blower.
I will not lie to you people, sometimes I lack inspiration. In fact,
today that is not exactly the situation, I have things I want to talk about,
like why doesn't James McAvoy work more?
Me, I blame that action
movie he made with Jolie. He is not an action hero, he is a sensitive
hunk. And I know people don't like to be typecast, but if you got it use
it McAvoy! But I don't want to write a post about that because this
Friday it is already time for Hunk of the Month Club (yep we are
excited) and although for some of us too many hunks is never enough I know
not all our readers roll that way.
I kind of want to talk about the goddamn pimple I've got that is huge as a mutha ucker and how I've got enough shit on my plate without
having to worry about pimples on my face, but this seems a little self-indulgent.
And I also want to discuss why British chefs always have to have so much
fat in their recipes, but at this stage all I really have to say about
that is, 'damn British chefs, why you always gotta have so much fat in your
recipes'.
So I turned to the Internet for inspiration. In fact I turned to Wikipedia. Inspiration has a lot of Wikipedia pages. According to Wikipedia, inspiration or inspire may refer to: artistic inspiration, biblical inspiration, creative inspiration, inhalation, the movement of air into the lungs, breathing in. It also listed 2 cars, 6 business ventures (inlcuding Christina Aguilera's fragrance Inspire), 3 films, 1 geographical thing, 9 albums, 2 songs, and 2 listing under literature: inspirational fiction; and Inspire (magazine), an online magazine published by the terrorist organization al-Qaeda.
I guess it is kind of funny that Christina Aguilera's perfume has the same name as al-Qaeda's online English magazine. HAHAHAHA. Yeah,. that is kind of funny. Hey, thanks Wikipedia.
I've got two of 'em and they are both swell. Sadly I did not see them this weekend. But I did see some of LB's.
I learned from Paz that he is so blind he did not see K at the supermarket the other day. So that he did not see her expectant face looking up at him fall as he walked past ignoring her (K's words not mine). I also learned that he has worn through yet another pair of shoes and, seriously, that guy is walking around with his socks touching the ground through his shoes. Not for the first time mind you.
I also learned that while siblings do rule, and therefore I'd like to give Baby one, I do not want to give him three. LB's sister is pregnant with her fourth baby and boy does that look tiring.
Hello Monday!
Normally I wouldn't be so happy to see you, but given that there are only two work days to get through until this week throws us another day off, I feel fine that you're here. Plus, I had a super nice weekend, so I can't complain.
Yesterday I spent the afternoon at Midbro's house. We ate pies and sausage rolls and watched the footy on foxtel while Niecey played with a jar of buttons. Niecey's ability to entertain herself while we are watching the footy is really astounding. She's such a top kid. As is Little Nut, her super adorable baby brother.
Can you believe Little Nut is two months old already? Unbelievable.
Such a cutehead.
Midbro and Mrs Midbro live next door my my parents, which comes in handy when they run out of things. Like tomato sauce, essential when one is eating pies and sausage rolls. When we discovered that the Midbro household had indeed run out of T-sauce, I went next door to get some. Mum and Dad are in Qld at the moment, visiting Elderbro, so I took my time, mainly looking in the fridge and pantry to see if they had anything good. I quickly discovered they had a bunch of easter eggs - Top deck easter eggs - sitting in a bowl in the pantry for anyone to stumble upon. I figured that if they really wanted them, they would have eaten them by now, or at least taken them along to Qld to enjoy them gradually day by day. I also figured they wouldn't miss a few teeny weeny little eggs, so I swiped some (four). I also ate one while I was standing at the pantry figuring out whether it would be OK to swipe some. I felt a little bad about it, but I figured that it was a victimless crime.
Once I finished my egg and hid the wrapper, I grabbed the sauce and returned to the Midbro residence.
The reason I am telling you all of this, dear readers, will become apparent in a moment, but first we must briefly return to Niecey and Little Nut for a moment. As I've said before, I can't wait to see what happens as the two of them grow up. I effing love my brothers and I'm so happy that Niecey has one now. Having someone to hang out with all through childhood, someone who probably has the same sense of humour as you and certainly has to cop the same parental weirdness as you? Forget about it - it is basically the best thing ever. Siblings rule! Right now, Niecey loves Little Nut fully sick, so I think she would agree that siblings rule. Of course this won't last. Soon, they will get on each others nerves and then by the time they are both at school, this mild irritation will progress to full-blown hating one another's guts, which will probably last until they are adults. So it goes. It will all come good in the end though.
As it has with my brothers and I, which was evidenced by Midbro's reaction to my stealing easter eggs from our parents. As we were having coffee later, I offered everyone one of the stolen eggs, and because I was raised catholic, I also had to confess that they were indeed stolen from Mum and Dad. Midbro gratefully accepted, one and said "yeah, these are great, I stole some earlier today. They've got Tim Tams too, you know."
You know, Miss Soft Crab turned 1 on Wednesday. In its first year Miss Soft Crab published 459 posts and had about 27500 page views. And only a small portion of those were from spam sites! YEAH!
And the top 10 search terms bringing you our way were:
Ewan McGregor Trainspotting
Miss Soft Crab
Trainspotting
Trainspotting Ewan McGregor
Michelle Williams yellow dress
Cloud
Neil Patrick Harris
What happened to Seal's face
Jedward
Picture of an iceberg
Seriously, I love Ewan too, people, but move on.
But what are these but statistics. Just numbers. They don't tell the whole story. They don't tell you that people have found their way here by searching "fucking eggplant", "ass dick and brioche" or "cute puffin." They don't tell you how much delight a bunch of Christian Bale fans got from our Oscars post as testified by a imdb.com message board. No, statistics are just the numbers.
Let K and me tell you the whole story.
J: So, mate. Miss Soft Crab turned one this week! Happy Birthday! How do you feel?
K: Happy birthday Miss Soft Crab! I feel great! How do you feel? Great, right? What a year it's been. Eating, seeing stuff, thinking about stuff. For a whole year!
J: I KNOW! A whole year! Do you remember how this thing started?
K: Actually, no, I've totally forgotten. Please remind me!
J: Well, I think we were lamenting the fact that all our favourite blogs had gotten shit so we thought we should write our own. And then 2 weeks later we did! Can you believe that of all the plans we've had and things we said we'd do, we finally did one?!
Perhaps I shouldn't share that story, 'cause when the readers decide this blog has gone shit they will be all 'haha!' Oh well.
K: But amusing our readers is exactly what we're here for, Mate! And, unlike other blogs, we're not at risk of going shit because we go a bit shit regularly. But then we bounce back! It's the beauty of Miss Soft Crab!
Speaking of the beauty of Miss Soft Crab, perhaps now is a good time to tell the readers why we are called what we are called. I don't know about you, but if I had a dollar for every time someone asked me why Miss Soft Crab is called Miss Soft Crab, I would have about $7.
J: Probably I'd have about $3. Cause you are much more friendly than me and people don't like to ask me questions. But yes, go ahead, tell the people. Or should we show them?
As you can probably tell, that's a clip from Hairspray, we don't actually know Debbie Harry. Hairspray came out in 1988, the same year J and I met and when we were little crabs, we used to watch it all the time. Loved the shit out of it. Still do. When we decided to write this blog, we wanted to find a name that came from the early days of us seeing, eating and thinking about stuff together. Our thoughts turned to Hairspray and Miss Soft Crab was born!
J: Yep, that's how we got the name. So after about 460 posts, mate, have you got a favourite?
K: I pretty much have a new favourite every week. But highlights include:
and absolutely without a doubt Multi-faith Haiku Thursday.
But there are so many winners! I mean out of 460 posts I can assure the world there are more than just the eight good ones listed here.
How about tags? Do you have favourite tags. Personally, I like caution, dates initiated by parents that will come to nothing, Germans, signs of success, i love you guys, sorry readers i think I may be hysterical and apes. I am not saying these are the best posts, but they are great tags, some of which should definitely be used more! Which ones do you like?
K: There are so many tags we should use more! For example, 'marscapone'. It was used once last year, but never again. Why, I'd like to know, when marscapone is so absolutely delicious.
Other tags I have enjoyed are: UGH, nutting up, bullshit and Fassbender. That last one I like because I like Fassbender and everything he stands for. Or sits for. Ha!
Speaking of Fassbender sitting, one of my favourite things about this past year of Miss Soft Crab has been reviewing the search terms people use to find us. We've written about it a few times but honestly, the ones you guys have heard about are just the tip of the iceberg.
J: Yeah, search terms can be great. Recent highlights include Ryan Gosling hair, superman sign with a k instead (Mate, did you search for this?) and Aragorn WTF face! WTF?
K: In addition to hilarious search terms, there have been some pretty hilarious comments too. The most amusing relate to Jennifer Grey's nose job. You guys might not know this, but there is a pretty significant pro-nose job lobby out there, and they get pissed when you express a preference for original noses.
J: Yeah, those Jennifer Grey comments were weird. But I am pretty sure they were spam. I have to say my favourite comment came from someone called MC, but in truth I question the reality of that person too
K: Oh yes, the famous MC. Possible boyfriend of Miss Dizzy.
J: Possible boyfriend of Miss Dizzy! Yes! We have touched so many hearts and minds. But so many hearts and minds and faces have touched us too. Everyone we know and love and also don't know and love have been great in allowing us to immortalise them here!
K: That is so true. The people we know and love are the best - letting us talk about them like we do and posing for photos from behind all the time. I love those guys. And you guys, readers, YOU GUYS! We effing love you! We are so happy you guys come to to Miss Soft Crab and let us tell you about the things we eat, see and think about. For serious - we love it. How can we repay you? If we could we would give you the world, but that is not possible so, Mate, what do you say get Prince to show the people how much we love him. THEM! Shit. I mean them.
J: Yeah, Prince probably said it best. Thanks everyone!
Poor J, being sick is a total bummer. And today, of all days, Miss Soft Crab's motherflipping first birthday, the day we were each going to fulfil (my) childhood dream by each making a whole cake for ourselves!
Oh well. Happily, I can advise that I did indeed make a birthday cake for Miss Soft Crab, and I'm even happier to report that though I made it up, it worked out pretty darn well.
Here it is, readers.
I call it Peaches and Cream.
It's a vanilla sponge layer cake with peach flavoured ricotta cream, and peach frosting. Nothing but the best for MSC, right?
I wont bore you with details of making the cake. I mean, you guys know how it goes. You make a cake. You divide it in between two pans. You bake it.
The frosting however, now that really is something else. First, you make a syrup with one cup of sugar, one cup of water and in this case, a few teaspoons of peach juice. You simmer this syrup for quite a while, until it bubbles and boils and gets to a temperature of 230 degrees - that is, you practically turn it in to toffee. Meanwhile, you whip egg whites with a little sugar to soft peaks. Once the syrup is hot enough, you pour it in to the egg whites and beat for 7 minutes (why they only start the clock at this point I don't really understand) and voila, you've got your seven minute frosting. It's really quite delicious, something like a creamy toffee. In order to give mine the kind of peachy flair I was looking for, I added a little peach schnapps and so it basically tastes like peachy, creamy toffee. Effing delicious!
But back to the mother flipping celebrations!!
I lit some candles and drank a toast to MSC's first year.
I have all of this peach schnapps now you see.
Then, because I am only human, I cut myself a slice and put it in my cake hole. What? That's what it's called.
It was yummy and all, but Mate, I really wished we were hanging out and eating it at your place, with LB drifting in and out of the room acting like he isn't listening to everything we are saying, and Baby frolicking around being cute. I mean, childhood dreams aside, MSC is not about doing solitary things, it's about hanging out on the internet as well as real life.
I made do though, with a toy Baby left behind last time you guys were here.
Say hello, Mr Pinky.
That guy is mad about peach schnapps! Not really. He's not real, I know that.
Anyway, I guess this just goes to show that real life is not like TV, but it is pretty effing great, right?
In some other world we would be throwing a hot party with guests like Vincent Chase and Serena van der Woodsen. But this is the real world guys and those people don't exist here. So instead K and I decided to bake cakes. By ourselves and for ourselves. WOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!! It's a celebration bitches!
My cake was to be loosely based on another first birthday cake that I made last year.
That cake was delicious light sponge iced with whipped cream mixed with icing sugar and passion fruit. And if you ask me it was delicious. Miss Soft Crab's first birthday cake was to be a delicious light sponge.
That sponge would be smothered it with lemon curd.
And that was to be smothered with whipped cream. Then I would decorate it. Kind of like this.
You guys it would be delicious.
But this is the stupid real world. And I have been so sick all week yesterday I could barely stand for more than 10 minutes. So no cake guys.
Might as well imagine Miss Soft Crab's birthday party looked like this rather than imagine a non-existent cake.
And let's hope that K has had more success celebrating than me.
You know mate, I didn't even know that the Logies were on until yesterday when I saw a headline that Hamish Blake won the gold Logie. That was all. I did not engage or hear/read anything else. I guess it is safe to say I could not care less. But your post did raise some questions.
Why didn't someone tell Asher Keddie to wear a slip?
Why didn't Crazy Princess's publicist and Joel Selwood's manager find more appropriate people for them to date? Surely no-one is buying Crazy Princess and Joel Selwood as a couple.
Why is Twiggly such a.freak?
But The Voice has me asking questions too!
Seal, why dont' you do good reality TV like your soon to be ex-wife?
Delta, have you had plastic surgery? You look weird.
Keith Urban and whichever Madden guy that Madden guy is...no I got nothing for you guys.
On Sunday night, I watched The Voice and the Logies and yes, I am wasting my life. But I do have the following things to say about these shows, largely so I can get these lame shows off my mind and move on with what's left of my life.
Seal, you seem a little bit like a predatory, post-separation, middle aged man and its creepy. The bit where you said to one of the young female contestants "what a beautiful thing comes out of you" while holding her face in your hands made me feel creeped out and like that contestant was in stranger danger. Also, Seal, don't sing along while the contestants are singing. It's rude.
Joel Madden, you are so uninteresting to me that I don't have anything to say about you. But don't sing along while the contestants are signing. Its rude.
Delta Goodrem, your hair is sailing dangerously close to parody. Stop it. It is good to see that you tend not to sing along with the contestants. Keep that up.
Keith Urban. You are my favourite judge and that makes me question everything. You have a lisp and its kind of endearing. Please get the eff out of my head. And stop singing while the contestants are singing, its rude.
I really hope I never have to watch it again. The Logies, on the other hand. Actually, no, I can't fake it. I really hope I never have to watch that again too. The starlets they have these days, and the things they wear, are so boring I barely even have the motivation to criticise them. But I would like the make the following comments on some things that I saw people wear.
What a charming tablecloth!
I like to call this look the Crazy Princess.
Watch out for banana peels, Crazy Princess.
You're not fat, you're just pregnant, we get it.
Ugh. Twigley. This dress looks like something a very fancy Egyptian mummy might wear.
And your hair looks like something an Afghan Hound might wear.
Right? But not as cute, of course.
Goodbye, terrible night of TV.
Oh geez, Mate. You should have warned me that the story of your Friday night was a sad story! You know I can't handle stories about ageing institutions that were once thriving but are now struggling to find their place in the modern world. Just the other night I got really depressed watching We need to talk about Kevin because in it, Tilda Swinton worlds at a travel agent and I kept thinking if this was real, all those people would be out of a job now, which I'm pretty sure is not the reaction the filmmakers were hoping for. Everything about that RSL story makes me feel sad, especially the train drawing. That train looks so so sad! I bet Baby liked it though. And LB. Did LB enjoy his meal? I hope so.
I'm sorry you got sick from the frozen pencil fish, but I think you guys should go back and give them another shot. I'll come if you like. Maybe I'll try to convince Midbro to come, and bring Niecey and Piglet. Anyone who would draw such a sad train needs our support.
How was everyone's weekend? Great I hope! Mine wasn't. Sure it started out good, enjoying a beer with Mickey ‘Mikey Doubleword’ Blue Eyes while Biz played records but by the middle of Friday night I was sweating with a fever and aching in my bones. A nasty effing cold. Did something happen between the beer and the onset of a cold? Yep. Dinner at the RSL.
What? Yeah, it was weird. LB picked me up from the train station and we were going to get a burger from Grill'd. Which we don't even like that much, we were just being lazy. But we had to park the car around the corner, just past the RSL and as we walked past that RSL we had a glance and then another and then, then we just decided to walk in.
The weirdness started pretty much immediately. Of course you could argue it started with our decision to have dinner at the RSL. We were standing at the reception figuring out how to sign in when a young and friendly employee bounded up to help, he was so friendly and helpful. Weird. Then we went into the dining room and as we were deciding where to sit another young friendly guy bounded up, "Table for three?" he asked, "Sit anywhere you like." Hey, thanks for confirming guy.
The toilets had the reassuring smell of a side-of-the-road-motel room and David Bowie was playing on the sound system. I loved it!
There was not a single vegetarian thing on the menu so I ordered fish and chips. And 50 minutes later it came out. I tried to break off a small piece of fish for Baby but it was like trying to break a pencil. A thick frozen pencil. That isn't what fish should be like. It took a second or two for me to figure out that the fish was still frozen in the middle. It seemed so wrong with the deep fried batter and soft outer layer of fish, but there was no denying that fish was frozen solid. The waiter was pretty horrified when I told him. I don't know what I was more upset about. The fact that my dinner was frozen or when I told the guy "the fish is still frozen" that it seemed like a normal sentence. And let me tell you that when my dinner came out again cooked properly I had pretty much had no appetite.
As we were finishing up our "food" an old guy came over. Not super old. Like my Dad's age. He asked Baby "Can I draw you a train?" So he took my notebook and drew a picture for Baby. Turned out this guy was once a typographer but in 1979 when barcodes came in he moved into the barcode making business and had been doing it ever since. Also turned out this guy was secretary of the club. He was a nice guy. Told us they were really trying to establish the dining room, build up the clientele, asked us if we enjoyed our meal, hoped we'd be back. He was really nice, so we just told him we'd had a great time. Which was not entirely a lie.
An hour later I passed out. Two hours after that later I woke up sweating and in pain.
Frozen pencils and heavy sweating?! Sounds like my Friday night!
Geez, mate, no wonder you are TGIFing so hard. What a lame week you have had. What kind of a d-bag snaps off someone's windscreen wiper? Geez, a-hole, get a life. At least you don't live far from a Kmart, those guys will totally sell you a new windscreen wiper.
I am actually just the opposite of TGIFing. I am OMIFing. (That means oh, man, it's Friday.) Cause I only work on Mondays and Fridays and what with Easter it feels like I haven't worked in about a million years. So I had about a million emails to deal with today and blah blah, you know how it is.
Still I can't complain at all really. Yesterday I went to the zoo and I saw a motherflipping baby orangutan! Have you ever seen one of these guys up close. It is the cutest freaking thing. THE CUTEST!
Anyway, let's get back to Friday. I have this playlist on my iPod of songs I used to listen to on my way to work on Friday mornings when Friday used to mean something to me, to get in the mood for the weekend. It starts with R Kelly and ends with Snoop Dogg. Yeah, it's really good. Here is a golden track from that playlist. Let's let our Friday on!
I am TGIFing so hard right now. I came in to this week with the wrong attitude, thinking that because it was a short week, it would also would be quick week.
What a sucker I was. This week has dragged like the the tractor wheels contestants on The Biggest Loser have to drag along from ropes tied around their waists sometimes. Which is to say it dragged a lot!
You know what else dragged? The fact that someone snapped one of the windscreen wipers off my car, then dumped it on the footpath right next to my car. Have you ever seen a disembodied windscreen wiper, readers? It's really kind of sad. Kind of like an inside out umbrella is sad. But vandalism is a not sad. Nor is it funny. It's just a drag. A real drag.
Anyway, as you can see, I'm really T-ing G that it's F.
Wikipedia knows what i'm talking about. Check it:
"In many countries, Friday is the last day of a five-day working week, and is viewed as a cause for celebration or relief (leading to the phrase "TGIF", for "Thank God/Goodness It's Friday"). In some workplaces employees are allowed to wear less formal attire on Fridays, known as Casual Friday or Dress-Down Friday.
Of course no one has ever called Casual Friday "Dress-Down Friday", but I think Wikipedia has captured the essence of what I'm talking about here. So lets celebrate our progress through the week with a song, shall we? I was going to play Friday on my mind by the Easybeats because it's on topic and rad. But then I remembered this song and thought I would play it instead. I'm just kind of in the mood for it today.
On Easter Monday, Rumpy came over so we could watch some TV shows that he acquired through completely legal means, but we nevertheless needed a computer to watch.
We took the opportunity to make and eat some delicious things.
Having the whole day at home in front of the tele presented a good opportunity to make something that requires a lot of time on the stove but yields mega-delicious results. We chose Gumbo.
I'm sure you all know what Gumbo is, on account of Melbourne's latest food truck sensation, the Gumbo Kitchen. Neither of us have been there. Or should I say, neither of us have eaten Gumbo there. Apparently Rumpy has been several times and fully intends to eat Gumbo, but always gets sidelined by the Po'boy.
Picture of Rumpy's actual Gumbo kitchen po'boy, which I got him to send me just so I could set up the following joke:
Fair enough too, look at that pretty baby all chock-full of fried shrimp. What more can a po'boy do? (heh. Thanks guys)
Anyway, long story short, neither of us had ever eaten Gumbo before so didn't really know what to expect.
All we knew was that it is a delicious sounding thing from the deep south of the US of A. Louisiana in fact, which we all know used to be a French colony until the famous Louisiana purchase in 1803. Happily, the famous Louisiana purchase occurred after the French had an opportunity to impart their cooking techniques, hence the Gumbo began with the making of a roux.
A roux is a combination of butter and flour that is cooked over low heat to form the basis of a sauce. If you've ever made bechamel, you've started with a roux. What I didn't know is the longer you cook a roux, the darker and more intense it becomes. So, after about ten minutes, the roux looked like this:
That's your traditional blonde roux. An hour later, it turned in to a brown roux that looked like this:
Now some people like to make their gumbo with a little seafood. The recipe we followed had none, but who am I to complain when there is a mountain of chicken and ham involved? I'm no one and I would never do that.
So like I said, we sauteed the chicken and ham then set this little protein party aside while we sauteed a bunch of your garden variety aromatics: some celery, garlic, onion and capsicum and tomato...
...before being brought together along with some chicken stock, chilli sauce, allspice, bay leaves and thyme.
Not the prettiest.
Then, we watched a bunch of TV while that little baby simmered away and filled my house with the smell of delicious. So far so easy, right?
About an hour and a half later, we were ready to add the final ingredient: Okra. Apparently this is an essential ingredient of gumbo, and has natural thickening properties. In it went before I had a chance to photograph it, but basically it looked like a whole bunch of sliced okra.
Half an hour or so of TV later and we were all done and ready to serve.
Ten seconds later we were ready to eat.
Gumbo about to get got.
I ate this very bowl readers and while it may not look like much, I can assure you it was a total mind blower. It tastes exactly, and I mean exactly like delicious. It was so comforting and familiar, while also tasting like none of the things I have tasted before. And so rich. But also kind of light.
You know how indian curries are all deep and intense, and thai curries are all light and fresh, but also kind of intense? Well Gumbo is like the mid point between the two. Spicy and hearty and rich, but with this breezy deliciousness that makes it go down so so fine.
Readers, I loved it. Simple, lazy and like a party in my mouth.
