Sunday, January 3, 2010

garlic as a weapon = self-OFfense?

I stabbed myself with a clove of garlic tonight. I almost want to look that up on Google and see if anyone else has ever managed to do that. When I say "stabbed" I mean that the point/tip of the outer shell-type-thing actually pierced my skin and stuck out the other side. I keep running my finger over the hole it cut out of my thumb because I can't believe I actually tore off a decent chunk of my own flesh with a clove of garlic. I mean, really - who does that??

Injuries aside, dinner was excellent, if I say so myself. Tonight I made Chili & Polenta Casserole, effectively combining one of my favorite things with one of Mister's favorite things. Angst even thought he would like to have his own bowl and I can't blame him - the scent was umami heaven. Even better was that it only had to bake for about 15 minutes. Still better than that is how pleased I am with myself for thinking to use my cast iron skillet so I could skip the step (and consequent additional things to wash later) of transferring the chili to a casserole dish to bake it.
I was pretty happy with the few deviations I took from the printed recipe. It had occurred to me when I was preparing the 1/4 cup of diced red pepper for last night's dinner that the remaining 2/3 of the pepper would make a charming addition to the chili, in place of the jalapeno. I have issues with jalapenos - if you're lucky, I'll share that embarrassing story someday. I also bought a 28 oz can of fire-roasted tomatoes instead of a 15 oz can...because I just really wasn't paying attention when I put my list together. Honestly, though, the 15 oz can would have been too little - it turned out "just right" the way I made it. I also omitted the shredded cheese in favor of a generous sprinkling of sea salt.
I like how this one kind of looks like an alien.
No, I didn't do it on purpose.

One final, completely unrelated story: When we went out to dinner with my husband's parents for Christmas Eve, his dad told us the story of taking our nephews (and their parents) to cut down a Christmas tree. They had never done this before because their father is horribly allergic to trees, apparently. For the same reason, the tree they cut down went home with my parents-in-law. The boys' other grandmother knew they were going to a tree farm, so when they returned home and she came to visit them, she asked where their Christmas tree was. They told her, "It's at Pappou's house!"

Fast forward to our Christmas Eve dinner at Lacroix: when we had finished our wonderful dining experience (I can't even call it a meal), we returned to the valet to get the car. While we were waiting, I snapped a picture of the gorgeous tree in the lobby. At dinner, we had discussed how Mister and I utterly failed to have a Christmas tree this year, due to lack of room, outlets, and creativity. So, taking my mother-in-law's suggestion, I want to show you my Christmas tree:
It's at the RittenHouse [Hotel].

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