I am BORED, and it has nothing to do with the fact that Chris is playing Fallout 3 for the umpteenth hour this weekend, and that means there is no TV available and I am relegated to the computer to do everything from search for a wedding cake design (any ideas that encorporate fuschia, navy, white and/or silver that are clean and attractive and 3 layers are totally welcome provided they come with pictures, btw), to aimlessly reading about the heart damage that is caused by running a marathon you’ve done no training for, to idly shopping for swimsuits and bemoaning my giant running legs. It has very little to do with the teams that made it to the Superbowl being teams that I actually care about a negative amount. It isn’t really related to Willie being asleep instead of begging for attention, nor my lack of homework that needs doing. No, I’d say it can pretty much be attributed to how messy our kitchen is, and how if I want to go in there and bake homemade Cheez-its I’m going to have to tackle Mount Dishmore and maybe scrub melted cheese out of the microwave (inexplicable, since we don’t use the microwave–not even for popcorn). So I’ve got that meandering ennui that convinces your brain that the only solution for stimulation is FLAVOR, but my direct link to obtaining that flavor is marred by a set of tasks that I want to do about as much as I want to contract syphilis, not know about it for 20 years, and then end up in jail because I killed a family of four from the delusions associated with neurosyphilis. But other than that, I’m super.
I did manage to sneak in there, commando-style, and put both a chewy amaretti cookie AND a chocolate-orange jelly cookie into my mouth at the same time, which, when chewed, tasted like a really bitchin’ cake. It will end up being a cake flavor profile within a week. Probably when Chris gives up and does the kitchen himself, and I don’t see that happening unless Fallout 3 issues him the quest of “go clean the fucking kitchen so your poor, beleaguered fiancee doesn’t have to since she cleans kitchens all week, every week and poor, poor her.”
As for now, I’m just probably going to starve, both emotionally and literally, from lack of kitchen access.
Here are a couple of “game-time favorites” I made this weekend, because while I have…carry the one…no interest in watching the Superbowl itself (for the first time ever, I’ll have you know. In Denver it was always fun to cheer for the Broncos even when they weren’t playing), I DO have a marked interest in eating football foods. Even if they make me look like a linebacker over time.
I made soft pretzels from a fairly well-thought-out recipe, dusted them with kosher salt, and then made queso to dip them in.
I have never, ever dipped a soft pretzel in queso, because I have a life-changing fear of fake cheese. You know, cheez? Nacho cheese? Cheese dip? Mac n’ cheez? Clip that noise. But making it myself was really rewarding. I imagine it was like the vegetarian that invented tofurky, only actually delicious. That whole, “man, Thanksgiving is such a disappointment each year because I can’t eat turkey because it’s wrong and repulsive. If only there were a way…I know!” Same thing, basically. I made a quick bechamel with Plugra butter for richness. I added grated farmhouse cheddar and mozzarella, chopped Hatch chiles, cayenne pepper, Frank’s Red Hot, black pepper, and a touch of nutmeg. Mmmmmmmmmmmmmm. Chris ate some with a spoon when I wasn’t looking, I’m pretty sure. I also threw down some sweet cinnamon ones with an almond poor man’s frosting of cream, almond extract, and confectioners’ sugar for dipping.
We also had seasoned french fries and barbecued chicken sandwiches coated in homemade ‘Q sauce. I throw ketchup, mustard, cider vinegar, hot sauce, cayenne, black pepper, molasses, liquid smoke, and super-dark brown sugar in a pot with sweated, minced onions and let it simmer for a bit. Always turns out good and vinegary and delicious. I am a FAN of vinegary barbecue sauce.
But that’s all. And it was ages ago. And all I want are some GD homemade Cheez-its with real cheese. Po’ me. I can see a bottle of Syrah from my chair right now. I might army-crawl over to it on the sly and try to muster up the courage to forage for a snack. Wine helps with that, you know.