This weeks poll on whether I should honour the weird little Xbox kids menu request for next week to the disservice of all the other fellow housemates...and myself closes at midnight and is currently a 50/50 split. If you cast a vote in the coming hours ask yourself;
'Could I really spend a whole week on a diet of unleavened dough made from durum wheat and water, smothered in a variety of tomato based sauces and topped with handfuls of Parmigiano-Reggiano?'
Now, this is not persuasion...I am merely posing the question that you need to ask yourself. I very much like the supportive comment from 'Anonymous' regarding this poll;
'I feel you are duty bound to sit the Xbox child down and explain the theory behind dehydration, hydration and then subsequent dehydration of pasta and the likelyhood of a football sized bowl obstruction,which although possibly appealing in a strange biological research sort of way certainly has potential to put house and housemates in extreme peril'
I could not have produced a better counterargument for the defense of the fellow housemates and myself your honour (think I've found a new best friend). Coincidentally, I heard a rather amusing Italian-based foody story during yesterdays Dregs Session.
How would you impress a new girlfriend during a romantic dinner in an upmarket Italian Ristorante? You could always try this one.
Dave, looking rather dapper in his taupe suit with a pocket watch and chain attached to a blue and gold waitcoat over a white dress shirt, and Francis, dressed to kill in a little black designer number with matching expensive clutch bag, had just started courting and were sat in a subtly lit Italian Ristorante on their first dinner date. Perusing the menu, Dave noticed a starter of snails simmered in olive oil, vinegar, garlic and butter. In an act of complete bravado, an act to impress Francis with his cosmopolitan and refined palate, he announced "I think I will have the snails"....he had never tasted snails. Francis opted for the Calamari.The starters arrived and the snails went down well, leaving a debris of empty shells scattered around the plate, which Dave proceeded to gather up in his napkin.
"Francis, pass me ya bag"
"Why?"
"Quick, before the waiter comes over"
The bag was passed over and the filled napkin was shoved into it.
"Was everything satisfactory sir?" enquired the imported Italian waiter, noticing the empty plate that sat in front of Dave.
"Very nice thank you, but the snail shells were rather crunchy"
The waiter stood aghast. Mouth agape.
"I will..erm..inform the..err..chef sir"
Secondi and Dolci courses devoured, bill paid, they left and went to continue their evening in the nearby bars. The full repercussion of Daves practical joke was realised when Francis ordered the drinks and opened her clutch bag to retreive her purse. A huge waft of vinegar and garlic aroma engulfed the bar, bringing a look of distate from the patrons gathered at the bar.
She retreated to the Ladies and emptied the contents of her bag into the wash basin. All the contents and the whole lining of the expensive designer clutch bag were covered in a buttery film of garlic-infused olive oil and vinegar. Everything was ruined...and stank. She was not happy.
They went home.
After all these years, Francis has still got that clutch bag and refuses to throw it away..and it still stinks.
Anyhows, I've had a lovely, quiet and solitary day of relaxation and batch cooking. The Texas Pulled Pork is bathing in the slow cooker, two large cottage pies have been made and waiting to be transferred to the freezer, spice shelf in the larder has been replenished and various dry rubs and marinades have been made for later use (I will post the recipes for the dry rubs and marinades later). Time for a beer, TV and a slouch me thinks.
Love, peace and che l"uomo è pazzo
Cluski
Bellissimo
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