So it was dinner time last night. Dinner time is about 8 p.m. in our
house — after the ladies go to sleep and after the sun goes down. It’s
I decided that I was going to make some
pesto, add some shrimp and throw it over a bit of pasta. I look up a
pesto recipe on Pam the iPad and found, “How to make pesto like an Italian Grandmother.” SCORE.
I had everything I need: basil, olive oil, pine nuts, Parmesan cheese and garlic.
|This is my mini-leaf basil plant that apparently has a VERY pungent taste when eaten in mass quantities.|
I do like the recipe says, I chop the
basil and scrape and add more and chop and scrape… blah, blah, blah. I
add the garlic – I add everything. It’s GORGEOUS and smells as it
should: garlicy and lovely.
Then I taste it.
AHHH! My tongue. Holy hotness, my tongue.
The garlic and lemon-y basil SEARED my tongue. It was on fire. (I
actually added less garlic than the Italian Grandmother called for…)
(It’s been an hour and a half and as I type this I can still taste the garlic.)
tried diluting the pesto with more olive oil. That was a no-go. I
looked up, “How to fix too much garlic in pesto” and everything pretty
much said, “Don’t put so much garlic in there to begin with.” Thanks,
I came to terms. I yelled to Craig, “It appears as if this pesto didn’t work out. I’ll figure something else out.”
now the water’s boiling and the pasta’s almost done. I decide to saute
the shrimp in a bit of olive oil and add some sun dried tomatoes and a
teeny bit of my uber-potent, flame-wielding pesto mixture. I’m thinking
that it’ll give it some nice flavor.
I then promptly forget about it and start to do something else in the kitchen.
Maybe Craig won’t notice.
Me: “Time to eat. Come and get it. This is definitely not my most gorgeous
meal… in fact, the more I look at it, you don’t even have to eat it. I
mean, really. It’s really ugly. It looks… really unappetizing.”
Craig: “Nah, it’ll be fine… I’ll try it…” [He’s walking into the kitchen. He hasn’t yet SEEN the shrimp/sundried tomatoes combo yet.]
He looks in the pot.
Craig: “…What is that?”
|I’m totally thinking about going into food photography.|
Me: [Smiling. I mean, how can you not? I just made the single-most unappetizing meal EVER.] “Those are sundried tomatoes… with shrimp… and pine nuts… in some sort of dirt-colored broth.”
Him: “Oh. Ok. Wow. [Calm. Optimistic.] Sometimes things that don’t look so good are awesome.”
Me: [Bless his heart. THAT is why I married him.] “Yeah, I don’t think that’s true in this case.”
this point I hadn’t tried it. Quite frankly, who would WANT to eat
that? It was brown and thin and those “sun dried tomato halves” didn’t
look like they should be eaten.
I swear to you, it looked like shrimp tea.
So Craig sits down with his bowl of shrimp tea and pasta and takes a [wary] bite:
“Oh. Um… [incredulously] I can’t even eat this shrimp. I mean, I can’t even bite it. It’s like gum. Wow!”
He gets 10,029 points just for trying it.
I mean, shrimp tea. Who would want to eat shrimp tea?
I clearly don’t shine in the cooking stadium..
I can, however, pour an upstanding glass or two of wine.
Meet: our dinner.
Sometimes when Plans A & B don’t work out, you need to settle on Plan C.
It was a Plan C kind of night.