now you're cooking with chard
Hello everyone, I am having a foul foul foul day.
And not for any good reason, no, if there were a reason it would be bearable, but really I have been in almost unbreakably foul mood ever since Saturday when, instead of going to a party I had planned on going ato and was looking forward to, my mood and plans zigged instead of zagged and I stayed home and took morphine instead.
I on't think morhpine is the drug for me. First it made my neck and head hurt, then it took away all pian and left a somewhat pleasant auphoria except that I couldn't actually sleep, and then it left a dank foul cloud over my life that hasn't lifted.
I'm obsessed with cookbooks and cooking these days and made a decent lime mousse this weekend before the existential nausea set in. For the past two days I have been lying around contemplating combinations of various wines and cheeses and hoping that soon I'll grow hungry so that I can have the entertainement of staiating my bloating, swelling belly. Then I remember the desititution of so much of the world and feel bad, go out and give a homeless person five dollars.
But tomorrow I will be virtuous and good, tomorrow I will cook chard.
I have one of those deals where organic fruits and vegetables get delivered to my house every two weeks. I also have one of those deals where every time I eat about half of them and the rest go bad, taunting me with all their wholesome nutrients while I scowl and make grilled cheese sandwiches. But the worst of all offenders is the ubiquitous chard. Every two weeks, another grotesquely large amount of chard comes to my door, and every two weeks I sigh and dump it right in the garbage. But I don't go online and tell the company that I am not and never will be a chard eater, because somewhere I cherish the idea of a leaner healthier chardloving version of myself who can't wait for the chard to come, who will open up her big green box and say, "Oh boy, I love leathery green leafy vegetables! I will make chard mousse and chard lorraine and chard a la king and sweet and sour chard!"
If only chard came once every few months instead of EVERY TIME! Who in their right mind could possible have enough recipes to account for all this chard?
Anyway, I m going to try to face this bottomless abyss that I am wallowing in by forcing myself to make chard strudel. It's a real recipe, in a real cookbook, and it calls for wilted chard layered in a puff pastry and cooked with jarlsberg. But fuck jarlsberg. I'm going to make it with provolone. I don't know what jarlsberg but it sounds like one of those dense rubbery swiss-type hard cheeses jam packed with those flavors of scandinavia like caraway. I hate caraway and I largely hate the cuisines of scandinavia, all those hard flavorless breads and bracing liquors.
I tried to look up Jarlsberg but got nothing other than a vague suggestions that it's "nutty." A quality I like in comedians and nuts but not cheeses.
Well, I ams till in a foul foul, convinced I'll never come to anything mood, but that's the extent that writing about it can do for me, so screw you, goodbye, and remember, don't take morphine.
Cherry on
And not for any good reason, no, if there were a reason it would be bearable, but really I have been in almost unbreakably foul mood ever since Saturday when, instead of going to a party I had planned on going ato and was looking forward to, my mood and plans zigged instead of zagged and I stayed home and took morphine instead.
I on't think morhpine is the drug for me. First it made my neck and head hurt, then it took away all pian and left a somewhat pleasant auphoria except that I couldn't actually sleep, and then it left a dank foul cloud over my life that hasn't lifted.
I'm obsessed with cookbooks and cooking these days and made a decent lime mousse this weekend before the existential nausea set in. For the past two days I have been lying around contemplating combinations of various wines and cheeses and hoping that soon I'll grow hungry so that I can have the entertainement of staiating my bloating, swelling belly. Then I remember the desititution of so much of the world and feel bad, go out and give a homeless person five dollars.
But tomorrow I will be virtuous and good, tomorrow I will cook chard.
I have one of those deals where organic fruits and vegetables get delivered to my house every two weeks. I also have one of those deals where every time I eat about half of them and the rest go bad, taunting me with all their wholesome nutrients while I scowl and make grilled cheese sandwiches. But the worst of all offenders is the ubiquitous chard. Every two weeks, another grotesquely large amount of chard comes to my door, and every two weeks I sigh and dump it right in the garbage. But I don't go online and tell the company that I am not and never will be a chard eater, because somewhere I cherish the idea of a leaner healthier chardloving version of myself who can't wait for the chard to come, who will open up her big green box and say, "Oh boy, I love leathery green leafy vegetables! I will make chard mousse and chard lorraine and chard a la king and sweet and sour chard!"
If only chard came once every few months instead of EVERY TIME! Who in their right mind could possible have enough recipes to account for all this chard?
Anyway, I m going to try to face this bottomless abyss that I am wallowing in by forcing myself to make chard strudel. It's a real recipe, in a real cookbook, and it calls for wilted chard layered in a puff pastry and cooked with jarlsberg. But fuck jarlsberg. I'm going to make it with provolone. I don't know what jarlsberg but it sounds like one of those dense rubbery swiss-type hard cheeses jam packed with those flavors of scandinavia like caraway. I hate caraway and I largely hate the cuisines of scandinavia, all those hard flavorless breads and bracing liquors.
I tried to look up Jarlsberg but got nothing other than a vague suggestions that it's "nutty." A quality I like in comedians and nuts but not cheeses.
Well, I ams till in a foul foul, convinced I'll never come to anything mood, but that's the extent that writing about it can do for me, so screw you, goodbye, and remember, don't take morphine.
Cherry on
posted by Cherry Terror @ 9:08 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home