Megan, Me, Food, Drinks, Cabin in the Woods

That sums up the evening pretty well…

Megan: “OK, what can I eat?”
Me: “Well I kinda whipped up this coconut curry tomato soup thing…”
Megan: “Of course you did.”
Me: “Wanna try it?  I put tomatoes in there with some sauce, some coconut milk, honey, salt, curry paste..”
Megan:  “Yeah, I can taste all of that. Yum.”
Me: “It’s great over Ramen noodles, but we ran out of Ramen.”
Megan: “I think I have some in my car…”
Me: “Of course you do.”

—later—

Me: “Thanks for bringing the orange juice.  Somebody left cake-flavored vodka at our house – I think it’d be good with that.”
Megan: “Works for me.”
Me: “I want something fizzy in it too.  Would it be weird to put beer in there?”
Megan: “I dunno, go for it.”
Me: “This could be total genius or totally gross.”
Megan: *sips drink. Scoots drink closer to her and turns away with it under her arm.
Me: “I’ll take that as ‘genius'”.  

—later—

Megan: “MERMAN!!”
Me: “I know, right!?”
*many giggles from both sides.

We needed some quality time together. :)

 

*hurk*

I have horrible eating habits. I’ll admit it. I regularly eat Ramen Noodles. I will happily substitute a bag of popcorn for dinner. If I happen to not consume an entire pizza in one sitting, I will eat the leftovers for breakfast. Cold. If I’m eating chips and salsa and slop some salsa on my shirt, I will use a chip to scoop up the mess. I have no self-control over a plate of gravy fries. Doughnuts, hot wings, fast food, cookies… I eat all that crap. I drink out of the carton. Basically, I’m gross.

But even I draw the line somewhere.

I came across THIS article in the news today.

From the article: “It’s a regular pizza with a giant hot dog threaded through the crust…”

Way to go UK Pizza Hut, you out-grossed me. *hurk*

The Hot Sauce that Tried to Kill Me

A couple of nights ago my little sister was nice enough to make some veggie stew for John and I.  It was a cold day, so AWESOME for some hot stew.  What could possibly make it better?

Hot sauce, of course!

There is a reason why it's called that...

Now, lest we forget, I’m kind of an idiot.

Well, I guess by “idiot” I mean that I tend to just DO something without really thinking about it, be in pain for a little while, THEN learn from the mistake.

In a nutshell, I tend to throw caution to the wind.

I decided that I was a little bored with Siryacha sauce, and wanted to try something new.  I found this bottle labeled “The Hottest Fuckin’ Sauce” hidden in the fridge, and remembered that John had purchased it when we were in New Orleans over a year ago.  The bottle was still nearly full.  I figured maybe he didn’t like it, but the truth is you only need a pea-sized amount to set your soul on FIRE.  Needless to say, I found this out afterward. This bottle will probably last him until 2032.

This accurately illustrates how things went.  I DUMPED it over the soup – treating it just like your average everyday hot sauce.

I dove into my soup, and immediately began to feel the burn.  My nose was running, my mouth was on FIRE, and my eyes were watering.  But I was starving so I just kept shoveling it down, blowing my nose, and chugging water the whole time.

And for the next 3 days, I was miserable.

My tummy ached, I was in the bathroom about 10x every 5 hours, and I couldn’t figure out what went wrong.

“What did I EAT?”  I asked myself… not once thinking of the FUCKING HOTTEST HOT SAUCE ON THE PLANET THAT I SLATHERED MY FOOD WITH 2 days hence.

Well, lesson learned.  It was the fucking hot sauce.
Next time I feel my taste buds burning off my tongue while I’m eating, I might actually stop and remember “hey, this will be burning through my intestines next!”

Ugh.

If you’re a total masochist, and/or enjoy making your insides feel like Snookie on a bender (all booze and spike heels and teeth), here’s where you can purchase this hot sauce.  Don’t say I didn’t warn you…

Apparently I can’t make cupcakes.

I think I’m a pretty damn decent cook.  I’ve actually been okay at baking too, and I’ve whipped up some pretty freakin’ delicious cookies, pies, and cupcakes (just ask John – he’s taste-tested all of them.  Even when I told him not to, and smacked his hand repeatedly when he sticks his fingers in the batter.)

Apparently, I’ve now lost the ability to make cupcakes correctly.  I’ve followed the recipe perfectly – that’s not the problem.  I whip it all up with my lil’ whisk, and get ready to pour the batter into the cupcake liners – 2/3 of the way full, which is the perfect amount (according to Vegan Cupcakes Take Over the World).

And then I completely forget what 2/3 of the way full is supposed to look like, and my cupcakes end up looking like this.

They still look pretty delicious though....right? RIGHT??

I seriously do not know what is wrong with me.  This is the second time this has happened in the past month.  I think part of the problem is that the recipe says it makes “12 cupcakes”, but in reality it makes more like 24 with all the damn batter, but my brain absolutely REFUSES to accept the fact that the batter will not fit into 12 cupcakes.

So I keep on pouring, like an idiot – the whole time thinking to myself, “That looks like 2/3rds full to me.  Well, it’s a bit much, but cupcakes know how to stop rising up when the edge of the cupcake tin, right?  Of course they do!”

No, they do not.

When water is boiling over in a pot that I filled too full, I can just turn off the heat and/or dump out some of the water.  Problem solved.  But with cupcakes?  I just stand in horror watching them destroy themselves through the oven window, muttering “Fuck fuck FUCK fuck fuck!!” to myself and realizing I have no idea what 2/3rds-of-the-way-full looks like.

When I take them out of the oven, they’re a mess.  All of the insides have overflowed on top of the cupcake tin, and the actual cupcake itself has caved in because everything that was supposed to be on the inside is now on the outside.  Sounds like a horror show, right?

So I scrape all of the filling off the sides of the tin, and try to shove all of the filling into the gaping hole that was once a cupcake.  They look like someone chewed them up, then spit them back into the liner.

Terribly frustrated for letting this happen AGAIN, I throw the cupcakes into a tupperware container, and hope that maybe I can cover everything with icing or mash them all into a cake or something.

Then John calls me at work after he has returned from his weekend in the mountains.

John: “Are these cupcakes fair game?”
Me: “YES!  Eat them!  I can’t serve those things to people.”
John: “Sweet.  They’re yummy.”

God bless that man for never letting my cooking disasters go to waste.

Wish me luck… attempt #3 is happening tonight.  God help us all.

 

Image credit – this website.  I guess I’m not the only person with this problem.

The potluck

My friends like to have potlucks.  For those more skilled in the culinary arts, these get-togethers are exciting and fun, a chance to try out a new recipe. For someone like myself, who sets off a smoke alarm every time she tries to make toast (no, it’s not the toaster), these get-togethers are stressful. I never know what to make. And if there are steps in the recipe that are more complicated than boiling water, chances are, I will screw it up. For our most recent potluck, Megalops asked everyone to post what they were planning on bringing. Here are a few of the dishes:

“yucca quesadillas”. (I had to google yucca because for a second I thought someone had misspelled yucky.)

“some sort of delicious vegan casserole”. (the contributor of this dish bought “daiya for the occasion”.  I had to go back to google to learn what ‘daiya’ is. fake cheese, btw.)

“a cake”. (I didn’t need google’s help on that one. yay!)

“roasted eggplant hummus”. (I have a hard time believing that eggplant is a food.)

“dolmades”. (annnnnd… back to google.)

and a bunch of other stuff that I had to look up.

In scanning the menu for the evening, I realized that my “plate of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches” maybe wasn’t quite sophisticated enough. So against my better judgement, I decided to attempt homemade bread.  Eric and I had made it together before, meaning, he made the bread and I drank wine. But the recipe seemed simple enough so I thought maybe I could figure it out.

First problem came in step one. Sigh. The recipe called for 1/4 tsp. Instant Yeast. I had Active Dry Yeast.  I remembered Eric looking the two up and saying something about how they were different…or the same…  I wasn’t really paying attention.  And I didn’t feel like getting back on google to research yeast.  The jar I had said to dissolve yeast in water. But then did I add 1/4 tsp. of the dissolved mix or did I dissolve 1/4 tsp and then add it all? I was trying really hard not to pester Eric with too many questions but I was stuck. I texted:

me: One more thing abt the bread… how did you do the yeast?

Eric: you can just do it like the recipe says.

me: I don’t need to dissolve it first? Or I dissolve what the recipe calls for and add all that?

Eric: nope.

Ummmmm…  nope, what? Don’t dissolve it at all? Don’t dissolve what the recipe calls for? Shitballs. I suppose I could have just asked him what he meant but I knew he was busy with work and yeast questions from the culinarilly-challenged girlfriend seemed like an unnecessary distraction. So I paced in my kitchen for a minute and then said ‘fuck it’ and dumped the undissolved yeast into the mix. I stirred it all up and then left it to ‘rest’ for 12-18 hours as per the recipe’s instructions. It’s still resting now. I have no idea what happens if you add too much yeast to bread but I’m imagining a giant, expanding dough ball pressing against the kitchen walls.

The potluck is tonight and I’ll know in a few hours if, 1. the kitchen is accessible, and 2. if I need to change my menu contribution to “PB&J sans crust”. That sounds cultured and sophisticated, right?

UPDATE:  The dough didn’t eat any kitchens! And after the oven had its way with it, it was delicious, edible bread. I DIDN’T SCREW IT UP!!

Which means I’ll be expected to bring something equally as delicious to the next potluck. Crap.