We went out for a meaty dinner last night: Joe had T-bone lamb, and I had T-bone veal. (If I had ordered the foie gras to start, it would have been the ultimate western meal in animal cruelty.) Even though we finished the meat, we requested the the bones to be packed up to go.
“What’s your dog’s name?”
I like taking the bones home (that haven’t been knawed at) to make stock. Otherwise, those bones would simply end up in the garbage and gone to waste. I do the same with chicken, I usually buy them whole when on sale, and cut up the parts myself, and save the backs and bits to make stock. Making stock is so ridiculously simple, I’ve never bought canned stock before. (Well, I have an advantage: my expertise comes from a stint at a poultry store in Berkeley. But I do regret not having gone to work at the fishmonger’s next door; I would have learned to scale and gut fish. Otherwise I think I would cook more fish today.)
Saw an ad on TV where a young slacker dude is mailing a package.
“Where’s Pahonicks?” asked the clerk.
“It’s the biggest city in Arizona.”
“Don’t you mean Phoenix?”
I cracked up so hard, I couldn’t stop laughing for four minutes. 24 hours later, when I remember the ad, I laugh unstoppably for 4 minutes. Like right now. Joe doesn’t think it’s that funny. But he’ll go round saying “Spanky ham” for a couple weeks.
Chockful of cousins
I hardly ever see my cousins who live in the Bay Area; for those who live out of the area, visits are even more rare. But this week, I saw 4 out-of-town cousins. Tuesday night, I flew into LA (for a rare work trip) and had dinner with Tim and David at a really cool Japanese restaurant, where they caramelize the top of your tart tatin with a hand torch at the table. (I want a waitperson job like that!) Wednesday night I had dinner with Keelan who works at the Magic Kingdom, so we had dinner at downtown Disney, my first visit. Friday, Terry flew in from Texas for the Big Game (he bleeds bluer and more gold than me.)