Tag Archives: Dish

Through A Glass Dark(Green)ly

Jealousy is an ugly emotion. Unless it’s directed at you because you’re walking into an event with two smokin’ hot ladies on your arm.

And by you I mean me and by two smokin’ hot ladies, I mean my wife, known to me as She Who Must Be Shown Off Every Once In A While, and her friend, the Sultry Siren.

It was an entrance for the ages.

Both ladies were dolled up, dressed to the nines, with hair swept up and styled just so. Dresses tight in just the right places, and flowing along suggestively suggested lines. High heels accentuating the well-toned calves in every leg.

Provided you didn’t look in the middle of that particular grouping, you’d probably have your eyes dazzled by the pure, raw sensuality they were pumping out.

The middle being me, of course. Now, I didn’t look bad, understand. I looked pretty good — for me — in my tux, wearing a shocked, disbelieving grin as I kept looking side to side. Still, I was all right. The ladies on my arms. . . Another story all together.

I wasn’t the only person who looked either. I noticed a lot of men glancing our way, looking away, then shooting another glance at us, their eyes slightly greener as they imagined how much better they would look if they were sandwiched between the two smokin’ hot ladies.

What they didn’t know was that they couldn’t have pried my arms out of theirs with a crow bar, three elephants, a camel and one very stubborn platypus. (Which, as you know, are quite stubborn.)

As disappointed as I was that I had to give up two very nice tickets to the off-Broadway production of Sleeping Beauty, I had to feel that I’d received the better end of the deal by going to the March of Dimes Signature Chef’s Auction. Unfortunately, no, the March of Dimes wasn’t auctioning off the chefs.

Instead, the chefs each prepared a single dish and then we, the attendees, would wander throughout the high-toned feeding trough, getting a slice of awesome at each stop. In addition to the food, there were about 50 different silent auction pieces, and another live auction.

Each item or service auctioned off goes to benefit the March of Dimes and that organization’s efforts to help every mother carry her pregnancy to term, and providing care and treatment for children born too soon or with congenital defects. They are, to put it mildly, a pretty fantastic organization.

So when I had the opportunity to dress up, slink out for a night on the town with She Who Must Be Seen To Be Believed and the Sultry Siren, there was no way I was going to pass that up.

Being the object of many, many jealous glares was just icing on the cake. And I love icing.

Share on Facebook

Operation Mighty Hunter II

by Richard

With our feline advance guard out of the way, the mouse horde was primed to take over Casa de Dude with a degree of ease not seen since the great underwater sponge migration of ’78.

Okay, so it wasn’t much of a horde, considering we’d only seen one mouse, but my wife, known to me as She Who Must Be Seeing Mice Everywhere Never Mind About What Proof, had tasked me with terminating with extreme prejudice the leader of the mousy brigades.

I pursued that course with vigor, basically by delegating the job to our cat, Nari, who promptly failed to do anything more than nap when in close contact with the enemy. So it was up to me.

I spent the first night in my recliner in the TV room. Watching TV. But I was thinking really hard about how to get rid of the mouse when. . . suddenly something small and dark scampered across my field of vision. It scampered so I knew it wasn’t a huge cockroach, which scuttles.

Realizing the opportunity, I quickly instated Operation Mighty Hunter II. I softly closed the recliner and tip toed to the kitchen, where I quickly grabbed a tupperware container. Once again on soft toe, I made my way back to the living room where I dropped to the floor and eyeballed the space under the couch.

Empty. Disheartened, but not finished, I tried to think like the enemy. Nothing. I tried to think more like the enemy and my nose twitched, my tail itched. . .

I got it. Next to the couch we have a wicker basket which holds blankets and ankle weights, you know, like you do. It also stood up on short legs, giving a bit of headroom underneath it. That, I figured, was where the enemy had gone to ground.

I wriggled my butt, getting a good stance, the tupperware in my right hand, the basket handle in my left. I game myself a silent count, to make sure I was coordinated with the rest of the unit (heh, he said unit).

Considering the amount of adrenaline pumping through my system, it’s a wonder the basket didn’t go flipping through the window behind it. Still, I managed to control its ascent. There, snuggled down in and amongst the carpet weaves, was the face of the enemy. The most depraved species in existence. The ones who will gnaw on your living bones and then laugh about it, with fleshy bits stuck between their teeth. One of. . . these.

Much more frightening in person than it looks.
Operation Mighty Hunter II bags its first captive.

Yeah, look at the size of that Shiela. She’s a beauty, all right. And I managed to capture that monstrosity all by myself. It was a titanic struggle, my trying desperately not to drop the basket holding weights and blankets onto the ground so as not to squash me.

The mouse fighting back with all its considerable strength and cunning. Finally, I managed to trick it by yelling “Cheese! Look! Over there!” The poor fool looked and didn’t have time to look back before I lowered the boom.

In this case, the boom was the tupperware container in which you see him. Or, as I like to call it, the transparant mobile rodent prison transportation system.

After I managed to get the horrible creature out of the house, a journey and epic adventure worthy of its own legendary, mythologic storytelling event, I came back into the house, confident that Operation Mighty Hunter II had been classified as a complete success.

Little did I know, the horror was just beginning. The horror. The horror.

 

Share on Facebook

Dude Food: A Sticky Situation

by Richard

I cook dinner for the Jones compound just about every night. And, just about every night, the best I can expect after is — perhaps — a burp and a murmured, “That didn’t stink” from some obnoxious young dudes. Last night, though. . . Last night, they all couldn’t stop raving about what a great dinner it was.

And now I’m going to share it with you.

First, though, let’s talk about a dish that I make for the young dudes that they love. It’s called “chicken onna stick,” made in the spirt of one C.M.O.T. Dibbler, although with meat you can identify. It’s basically chicken tenderloins, marinated in a Thai peanut sauce customized by me, and then stuck on skewers and grilled on the outdoor grill. It’s a dish everyone loves. I have had to make up to three pounds of the stuff to satisfy the appetites in the past. Chicken onna stick is a huge hit on the Jones compound.

So, my wife, known to me as She Who Must Be Buying Something In A Store, No Matter What, saw a cookbook that she just knew I would love to have. And she was right.

This cookbook has some pretty cool recipes. I made the fudge puppies (on a stick) and the breakfast in a bun on a stick. Not only was it fun to do, they each tasted great.

The breakfast in a bun was simple once I made a few adjustments. I took a turkey sausage and stuck it on a wooden skewer. Then I mixed up some pancake mix and added some sugar and cinnamon. (The cookbook authors wanted me to make a hand-made pancake batter from scratch. Hah! Yeah, right.) I heated up a couple of cups of canola oil. I dipped the sausages in the pancake batter and then fried them up in the oil.

When the sausages were finished, we ate them by dipping the concoction into warm syrup. Mmmmmmmmmmm. Delicious.

For the fudge puppies, I toasted several waffles. Then I tore them into strips and stuck them on a stick. Once all put together, I froze the waffles again for about an hour. Toward the end of the hour, I melted milk chocolate chips and then dipped the frozen waffles into the melted chocolate. Also delicious.

Dudes, the eaters couldn’t stop raving about how good this stuff was. Again and again and again. I even had them thanking me for making such a delicious dinner.

I loved it. If you’re interested in fun cooking, you’ve got to give this book a try.

I can’t wait to make some more of these wonderful dishes. Author Matt Armendariz should be proud. This is the good stuff.

Share on Facebook