In the grand scheme of things, I can rarely think of a skill that is of better benefit in the kitchen than knowing how to make stock. With the right tools this simple procedure is fairly effortless, yet the rewards are astronomical. Okay, that’s a little hyperbolic, but this stuff is way better than that sodium-laden chicken-flavored water that you buy at the market.
…An exercise in amazing…
There are very few things in this world that I love more than coleslaw. While I’m pretty sure I’ve said that about multiple things at multiple times in my life, this time I really mean it. Seriously. I’ll fight somebody for coleslaw, if it’s good enough. Sometimes even if it’s just mediocre.
Think about it. There’s very little that screams American BBQ or cookout or I’m gonna stab you if you take the last piece of fried chicken like a tart, yet creamy coleslaw. Cooling in the summer and a way to force vegetables on your kids.
…The other day I made the most awful, offensive thing to grace my stove in many, many years. And frankly, that’s a good thing.
Let me clarify that. Sometimes that’s a good thing.
It all started with the chicken thighs I had bought. I had already cut the vegetables that would be going with the chicken and had them ready to go before I looked in on the meat. It was grey. The kind of grey that suggested death and bad omens. Basically, shit I didn’t want anywhere near my stomach. Don’t get me wrong, I love me some chicken, but when that shit goes bad, I’d almost rather eat a closed oyster. It’s not worth the risk of getting sick. But when the chicken went bad, that’s where things went down hill…
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I go crazy over cookouts. No, really. I get really obsessive over cooking the right things or bringing the most memorable things to the party. There’s some weird part of my brain that hungrily feeds off of the praise of strangers (or even friends) when it comes to the preparation of food. I’m a junkie for it. I have to be the one with the most interesting thing at the potluck. It’s a point of honor or something. It might explain why I spent so long working in hospitality. It probably explains a lot of fucked up things about me.
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