Tag Archives: food

Friday Night Bacon (in which I get inspired by Epic Meal Time)

I have to admit something.

I finally gave in and watched Epic Meal Time.

For some reason, up until now, I assumed it was a “guy thing” and just kept on ignoring it despite all the men in my life telling me I needed to watch it.  So because working an office job allows the occasional luxury like, say, a 4 minute YouTube video, I just went for it one day.  And here’s the thing… it was just a ‘guy thing’… so WHY exactly I ever thought I wouldn’t fall absolutely in FUCKING love with it is beyond me.  Can’t even explain it.  Between beards, bacon and Jack Daniels, I just lost my shit.

So, naturally, I chose to emulate these God-Like men in my own kitchen…

Have I ever told you about life in the kitchen with me?  No, and you’re damn right I’m about to whether you like it or not.

Once upon a time I nannied these two beautiful little girls.  One summer day we decided to throw a tea party promptly at noon the next day featuring: cucumber sandwhiches, iced tea, Hilary Duff music and chocolate cake.  Feeling inspired, I made my first fatal mistake when I decided not to buy the chocolate decadence cake from Whole Foods, but to make my own.

8pm rolled around that evening and I sat, crying, in my kitchen over four liquid-y chocolate cake messes.  Called my Mom.  Got her to watch to me make the next cake and tell me what exactly it was that I was doing so wrong.

I got to the part where I was supposed to add the flour and all of a sudden Mom was all “WOOOOOOOOAH, What are you DOING!?”

& I was all “adding flour, obs” and she was like “No.  You’re not.  You’re adding icing sugar.”

Ooooooh.  THAT’S why.

After that whole cake fiasco, I dubbed myself Queen of Kitchen Disasters.  I have talked myself so far into being a culinary fuck-up that there are a handful of people who will not even let me step foot in their kitchens.  I overcook pasta, I undercook chicken, I forget things like yeast in bread and once, dammit, I put tinfoil in the microwave.  It’s just not my scene.

But I wanted bacon.  & when a girl wants bacon, a girl has got to have bacon and sometimes with that bacon craving comes the hankering for something a little sweet too, so I just got crazy and went to town on Friday night.

This was the start of that bottle of wine you all witnessed on Friday night (we’re close enough now that I’m not ever deleting that post, FYI).  Poured myself a glass and decided to get creative with some peanut butter and chocolate chips (thanks for that Facebook suggestion, Darla).  Add some sugar.  A little nutmeg.  Some Molasses for shits and giggles and WHAM, throw in some bacon and call her good.

No one was home to witness the mess that was me trying to measure out one cup of peanut butter. Or to witness the mistake I made when I randomly decided that cutting the amount of sugar in half without replacing it with something like… oh I don’t know, flour, was a good idea (I had to freeze the cookies before they were solid enough to eat…) OR to notice for the next two days that the cookies I made WITH BACON were not being kept in the fridge and I was eating them non-stop (not good people.  Not good.)

None of this matters.  The point I’m trying to make is that sometimes, you just have to let failure go and try again when no one’s looking.  The cookies tasted exactly as I imagined.  They would just never win an award for looking pretty.  Or for being a good idea.  But hey, I proceded to eat 6000 calories worth of them and polish off a bottle of wine and didn’t even start a fire so… thanks Epic Meal Time… for restoring a slight amount of confidence in my baking attitude.

I watched six episodes of Swamp People yesterday while I was recovering from my cookie coma.  Wonder what that’s about to inspire…

xo & yw

The reason for the ‘Two Slice Rule’ (yet another reason exes can’t be friends)

I like to consider myself a bit of a social chameleon.  I’ve prided myself in being a circle bouncer my whole life.  Hopping from the kids in the smoke pit to the ones suntanning on the football sidelines.  To this day I feel I can hold my own with most social groups… usually it’s a matter of fluctuating my voice and either taking away or adding more “fucks” to the conversation.  Easy peasy.  We all do it.   There’s one area, however, in which I can not possibly convey any demeanour that is not 100%, unabashed me.    

Food.

I walk into a room full of people and food, no matter the social circumstances, and I’m like holyfuckhoorayhooraynomNOMfuckyesobesityyes!!!!

It’s a problem.

I’m not kidding, I’ve had people film me eating because it blows their minds.  Not in like… a weird 15 hot dogs kind of way, but in the way that’s like ‘you didn’t give me a fork so I’m eating this Alfredo with my hands and licking the bowl because I refuse to wait for you to get back with cutlery when I want this RIGHT NOW.’

So, surprise surprise, Wednesday night’s playoff game produced pizza and I went to town.  Like, really went to town.  SEVEN pieces into town.  Large pieces. Not even all ultra-thin crust or anything and not even all veggie.  Meat lovers deluxe extra fluffy crust and extra cheesy pieces.  I was an animal and I didn’t give a fuck because we were all friends there.

Kind of.

We were all friends there except it just so happens I used to date one of them for quite a long time.  Which doesn’t even matter because we’re friends now and it’s wonderful and we have a great time.  He happens to be working as a personal trainer at the moment and yesterday, after thinking to myself ‘hmm, summer’s in two months’ I decided to ask him, as a friend if he would be willing to train me.  Because I only have two months to shape up and look like Miranda Kerr.  As a friend he was all “yeah, of course I will!” and I was all “yay!”  and then something bad happened.

“Yeah of course I will” was followed by “I’ve also done up a meal plan for you to follow :)

 You did WHAT?!?!?!?!? And then you putting a fucking SMILEY FACE?!

“Don’t worry, it won’t be hard.”

….

….

When someone you used to hook up with suggests you follow a meal plan, it’s time to re-evaluate life a little bit.

“It’s gluten free.”

NO.  Your fucking face is gluten free.  Go away.

I pouted for the rest of the day, went home, put on my running shoes, loaded my iPod up with Lil Wayne, pounded 5k out of the pavement, felt great and then drove to A&W and got a Teen Burger.  Practically cried into the thing.

“I like your body  - as much of it as I can remember.”

Shut up.  Just shut up.  Let me wallow into my pizza belly.  I’ll follow your stupid meal plan and your work out plan.

“I’ll get you in retarded shape.”

Good.  Perfect.  Great.  Then I’ll kick your ass.

xo & yw & never shoulda asked