This time yesterday: “I don’t cook beans. I sometimes enjoy black beans only”
…we should always stick to our convictions – I KNOW better.
I thought it would be a nice gesture earlier this week to prepare a bean dish for my "significant" other. I planned to fry chopped bacon and remove it from the pan, sear chicken thighs in the drippings and remove them from the pan, simmer a few onions, add garlic, thyme, roma tomatoes, and cracked black pepper – and then return the bacon and chicken to the pan, along with white beans; slow cook for a while; and, serve it with a crusty bread in front of the fireplace.
Oh no.
It was requested a pig’s foot or ox tail be added instead of chicken. Of course I refused.
It was then requested that dry beans be used instead of canned. …since this was a Wednesday night meal and becoming too involved, I did a lamb dish instead.
…but decided to go home and try working with the beans alone while sipping a few glasses of Three Monks Cabernet Merlot (okay bargain bottle).
“Beans, beans, good for your heart – the more you eat, the more you fart”
I prepared my dish, minus the chicken, and using the soaked beans – cooked in free range chicken broth.
YUMM.
OMG – this sh*t was really good. The beans turned out magnificently. I was very proud of my bean accomplishment. A lot of joy and purpose went into the preparation. While it’s a very simple dish, it’s sometimes hard to keep things simple when you dabble in fusion cooking as do I.
Phone Call....
It was again suggested that beans are only good when meat is prepared in the beans. I’m wondering why anyone would consider the tail of an ox or the foot of a pig real meat. They both seem to fall under the scraps category or things that go into Slim Jims and Spam.
The irony is that I was speaking with someone who is incapable of frying an egg.
I could be married for 15 years and still refuse to cook a pig’s foot. There is no way I’m giving that sort of service in a the relationship stage.
I’m also wondering when chicken fell off from the near meat map. Not to mention the crumbled bacon - enough to feed three construction workers a decent breakfast.
..of course my very first b*tch fit followed the suggestions, and after hearing several apologies, and then realizing I really didn’t give a shit - I decided the beans should leave my house immediately never to return.
All that gassy conversation was too much to stomach.
Today: “I’ve cooked beans and they gave me gas to the tenth degree”
Karma
I exposed myself to gas at home, which then opened the door for gas outside.
I went to pickup my daughter this morning and then to the gas station. My dog jumped out of the car and ran into the gas hose, so gas flew everywhere – in the air, the ground, and of course, and allover the dog and I. She immediately returned to the car and I am pretty sure she will never try jumping from the car again. Folks at the nearby bus stop were happy that she was temporarily blinded because they would have surely been the focus of her runabout.
She had gas all over her coat and eyes. I had gas all over my clothing. The pump moved around like a snake before I was able to stop it – some serious Laurel and Hardy sh*t. The station guy ran out with a bucket of water and tossed it all over the ground. I was tempted to ask him to wash the side of my car. And of course our gassy arses had to sit back in the car. I went immediately to the nearby grocer to pickup dog shampoo and eye wash. The cashiers were asking if anyone else smelled gas.
I stood quietly.
So… My morning from 7:00 – 9:00 am was spent washing the clothing I wore for my tussle with the gas pump, washing the dog several times and then, myself by taking 3 showers followed by a bath with very coarse peppermint almond soap. Scrubbing as if my soul were dirty.
I drove to work with the heat on high and the windows open.
Of course, my engine light came on and I had to take the car to the dealership.
The repair guys at the dealership didn’t want to get in the car. They still haven’t started work on the car, though Jesus led me out there (he is one of our sedan drivers) and we left the car at 10:30 a.m. I think it’s because of the stench.
Even Jesus couldn’t help me.
…welcome Friday!!!
I need tea, classical music, relaxed surroundings, and a warm voice right about now.
Karma
No more f*cking beans - black or white. EVER.
...and a strict screening to weed out folks who have the urge to eat table scraps.
The point of a perversion is to always miss the point.
Last night, I put in cd’s by Rosemary Clooney, Thelonious Monk, and Jane Monheit, headed to the kitchen - kicked off my heels near the island, and started prepping while wearing my black dress still.
I served to my lovely a three cheese selection, grapes, sliced apples, and sliced baguette.
Feeling relaxed and happy...
I sauteed some thinly sliced shallots in olive oil – they smelled magnificent, and sparked a huge smile. I then added some thinly sliced garlic for a few moments and the smell of the two made me turn up the music a bit.
I then added a bit of white wine and a bundle of mixed herbs (mint, tarragon, chives, and a few others) and my reciever walked in to see what the beautiful bouquet of smells was all about.
I then tossed in a bunch of scrubbed and debearded mussels and threw in some small sweet roma tomatoes; removed the bundle of herbs, and threw in some heavy whipping cream.
My lovely returned and dressed me with an apron.
I grabbed a few handfuls of the most magnificent Alaskan wild smoked salmon I’ve ever experienced, and crumbled it atop the mountain of mussels.
The dark beautiful smell and the warm velvet feel of the salmon between my fingers caused an almost orgasmic feeling. I licked the few pieces left on my fingers before rinsing my hands.
I served it with a French baguette, the most delightful German Riesling I've had EVER, and a naughty smile.
The scent of the experience is lingering still. I feel dark and sexy.
Food Whore am I.