At the back of the hill

Warning: If you stay here long enough you will gain weight! Grazing here strongly suggests that you are either omnivorous, or a glutton. And you might like cheese-doodles.
BTW: I'm presently searching for another person who likes cheese-doodles.
Please form a caseophilic line to the right. Thank you.

Wednesday, September 18, 2013


A good friend gave me fresh chilies from his garden recently. He's been growing several varieties this summer, from quite hot to rather a bit hotter. They're red and ripe now.

So naturally I've been eating at home a bit more. Cooking gives me the opportunity to nibble on juicy fragments of pepper to figure out what else should go in the dish to alleviate or ameliorate.
Very hot chilies require "more".
Both more experimental nibbling -- ooh, spicy! -- as well as more cream and juices.

It's the closest the single man can come to sex in San Francisco.

"Tell me what you eat and I'll tell you what you are."
---Jean Anthelme Brillat-Savarin

Lest you now squawk indignantly and question my assertion (chilies = orgasm), objecting that A) there is no evidence that they are just as good or even in the same ballpark what a thoroughly RIDICULOUS comparison, and B) San Francisco is just filled to the rafters with women what one earth is wrong with me why aren't I getting any, let me hasten to point out that for years before my second bachelorhood commenced I was deeply involved with chilies so I know what I'm talking about and at least now I can cook without any sensible restraint whatsoever ooh hot yum yum, AND when it comes to relationships one absolutely must employ intelligence and discretion, and NOT get involved with women who aren't precisely and exactly suitable and admirable.

So, chilies then. Come here my little firecracker.

I rather wonder what notorious single man and effete food-snob Brillat-Savarin would have made of yesterday's dinner.

Italian sausage.
Coconut milk.
Diverse hot chilies.
Green curry paste.
Slivered ginger.
Olive oil.
Amber fish sauce.
Peanut butter.
Hot sauce.
Soy sauce.
Lime juice.
Fresh ground pepper.

More or less greatest quantity to least, sautéed and simmered.
Then mixed with rotini, and eaten with great enjoyment.

I think he would have said that I'm Italian.
Yes, that's it. The pasta made it obvious.

Who the heck names their child 'Anthelme'?!?

NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.

Labels: ,


  • At 8:17 AM, Anonymous Jack Kessler said…

    Not to attribute a man's attributes to his nation's history but it is hard not to connect the culinary predilections of a member of the Dutch nation to their having gone to the trouble to conquer a country on the other side of the world simply because it had spices while the motherland had only too much salt.


Post a Comment

Links to this post:

Create a Link

<< Home

Newer›  ‹Older