it's thursday again.
already.
this sort of day seems to show up every week
right around this time.
the weekend is worn-out,
and the work week is waxing wretchedly.
would you like to know what's keeping
my metaphorical monday blues away?
what it is exactly that's holding the throes of woe
and the back-to-work weak sauce at bay?
it's the promise of leftovers.
...yep.
as simple as that.
and man oh man, have i got some tasty treats left over.
six separate people ate six serious slices
out of my totally terrific pot pie.
and there's still a full half a circle of gravy-laden goodness left.
that's a semi-circle.
turns out i made enough for six more...
or for me and my wifey three more times.
nice.
take a good look and realize what you missed:
that's the flakiest, crispiest, butterishy, golden
homemade pastry crust you've ever imagined.
and there's no less than nine pounds of num-numminess
sitting pretty deep within.
brothers and sisters,
i prepared this beauteous beast for hours.
i roasted the carrots and the potatoes in the oven.
i put that crisp skin to 'em,
then added in the sauteed onions and celery,
and threw in the mandatory handful of peas.
once the tofu was seasoned, simmered, and sauce-basted,
i prepared a couple cups of extra gravy,
and poured the whole crucial caboodle all the way inside
the enormous aluminum bucket of epic hottness.
can you see how it domes all up and over the top of the pot?
yes, yes, y'all.
that's enough for 8 and 40 blackbirds, even.....
if you're keeping count, you'll notice that
that's a double-deep dose of dopeness.
some things are perfect 10s.
but this mutha-b!tch is a perfect eleven.
and like i said,
there's still six people's worth of slices still left over.
now,
i don't know how often you ninjas cook rutabagas,
but that was a new experience for me.
it's the italian in me, i guess,
that normally persuades me to forgo
all those waxy bowling ball veggies.
but my boiled up broth, with silly bay leaf placebo,
and my horseradishy, mus'tarded,
liquid-smoky (a.k.a. synthetic ham),
peppery cabbage, carrots, onions, 'taters,
and rosy-cream colored cubes of rutabaga,
was bangin' off the meter.
that's affirmative my feisty, famished mean mama-jamas.
recognize.
and topped with a slice of magical soda bread?
what whaaaaaaaaat?!
i think the secret universal plan endorsed
the full breadth and scope of my culinary course yesterday.
why do i say that?
because after all that tofu and gravy rainmaking,
and all that cabbagey cloud seeding,
there was no thunder.
...seriously.
i'm talking about crackin' A*s,
blasting buttrockets,
cutting the flounder,
y'know,
farting.
or the absence thereof.
not a bubble, not a gurgle, not a squeak.
the luck o' the irish, huh?
i guess maybe everybody really IS irish on st. pat's.
if it'll keep my A*hole attached,
i'll take it.
***********
i'll be two hours early to work today.
drawing dragons and scales and fire an' that.
lining up all those hundreds of flippin' scales, kids.
no fun. at all.
like not at all, at all.
but,
hard work is it's own reward,
and my vacation is coming up
in just two short sweet weeks.
meanwhile,
i'm sketching overlapping semi-circles,
and thinking of half a pot pie with each elliptical arc.
breakfast was over only a little minute ago,
but already my stomach is growling it's
demands for a little slice of heaven.
if it keeps it up,
i won't have to talk to my first client,
i'll just let my bellyhole howl it's hunger song;
never quiet, never soft.....
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