IT'S ALL MARY'S FAULT!

Dinner tonight was an experience in degeneracy. And I blame a short person in South Carolina. Cooked rice stick noodles, bacon, chunked tomato, egg, hot sauce. Freshly ground pepper. Nutmeg. And cheese. Oodles of cheese. Rice stick noodles are easy to cook, requiring far less time than Italian pasta. While they're boiling you put the chopped bacon in a skillet, then drain the noodles and dump them on top. Add the chunked tomato, messily crack an egg over and stir, add squirts of Sriracha all around as if it were a standard sauce, grind pepper and sprinkle on some nutmeg. Put the lid on the pan and do a few dishes while waiting for the egg to set and the cheese to melt. All that lovely, lovely cheese.
Decant onto a plate and scrub out the pan.

As I said, oodles of cheese.

The reason why Mary shares responsibility for this horrific heart-attack clusterfudge -- which was delicious, by the way -- is because she posted pictures of home-made pizza. And a bottle of red wine, because she and her husband were staying at home. And I didn't really want to go out and find myself a slice of pie. Pizza with no one to talk to takes too long.
So I winged it with what was at hand.


If I had children they'd be fat little monsters by now. What with their addiction to cheese and hot sauce. The wee turnips would probably be eating me out of house and home, and running me ragged.


I'll probably step out and have cigar. Unlike pizza, those can be enjoyed either as a solitary pleasure or a communal thing.


Seriously, I need some young lady half my age (so, between 25 and 30) to have pizza with me. Provided she also likes it with Sriracha.
We split the cost, and I'll provide the cigars.




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