I am Amish. Or, at least, I’m COOKING like I’m Amish. The sturdy, hooded people would be very proud of what I’ve accomplished, even if it’s left me sadly exhausted and not having lost any weight (even though I’ve been doing workout classes like it’s my job–cuz it kinda is).
It all started with those crazy vegetarians…An aside: Allison, I forbid you to be a vegetarian. 26 years old is FAR too late to develop a whole new moral code. That’s why old people are given carte blanche to act like racist little gremlins. You cannot change such things at any point after you’ve fully developed all of your more major sex organs, unless it’s because you had a traumatic experience with a farm decapitation device or something. And people from PETA are crazy, unless they are Alicia Silverstone, in which case they’re mostly just fabulous.
Back to the matter at hand: I’ve been trying to use all these vegetables, some of which I have never personally deigned to eat, nevertheless prepare. The eggplant is one of those things. Marinated with lemon pepper and grilled alongside chicken breasts, onions, balsamic artichokes, skewered potatoes, and the humble carrot, I thought it’d be all chewy and delicious–like purple tempeh. It wasn’t. It tasted like refuse, and I want none of it. If I’m going to bread something in a parmeggiano crust and coat it in a rich marinara, it’s going to be the American variety of eggplant that I like to call “chicken.” Not veal, though, because even I have limits on my allowance of animal cruelty. And I buy free range, humanely raised stuff from Central Market because I’m a snob, and it tastes nice.
I ate the hell out of those artichokes, though. And I’ll tell you that, dipped in a 30-year balsamic, you don’t miss the dippin’ butter at all. Mmmmmmmm.
This is an old horse-n-buggy favorite called chicken and dumplings. Or chicken’n dumplins’, if you want to be really technical about it. A dumplin’ is just a biscuit that gets poached in the chicken broth by letting it float around and then is served in/on thick chicken soup. If you’re anything like me, you eat shitloads of dumplings and ignore the chicken soup, and then feel like a jackass because you know damn well that the dumplin’ is the caloric epicenter of the dish. Whatever. It was dinner. I have more news on the food front, but I’m saving it for tomorrow because Chris has Grand Rounds tomorrow (which I think is like doctor intellectual show and tell) and he’s in charge of snack again, so I’ve spent all day making mass quantities of things, and baking for strangers, and I’m very tired. And a little fat.