Thursday, November 3, 2011

Gingerbrexia

Apparently, Jack and I have food issues.

Oh, not of the eating disorder variety. And not of the body image variety.

No, this would be of the "bad decisions" variety. And the "lazy" variety.

You see, for the last two nights, all Jack and I have had for dinner was Starbucks gingerbread lattes. And while perhaps the gingerbread latte has some fabulous well-balanced nutrition that I don't know about (I think the red cup gives it extra power, maybe?), I still kind of doubt that's the best choice for a complete dinner.

It happened innocently enough - Jack came home from work on Tuesday night super-excited that it was red cup day (yes, we are THOSE people) and therefore gingerbread latte day (YES, WE ARE THOSE PEOPLE), so he whisked me off to Starbucks just before they closed. We sat and held hands on the table-top (YES! We ARE those people!) and sipped our lattes and talked. TALKED! Because, um, marriage is hard, and sometimes you have to sit and hold hands and sip lattes and talk.

Until you get kicked out because they are closing*, but then you can just go home and sit on the back porch and finish your lattes and conversation there.

Related: Our dog gets VERY nervous when we sit outside. She's like "WHY ARE WE OUT HERE? TAKE ME INSIDE! DO YOU KNOW THERE'S, LIKE, RABBITS AND WIND AND STUFF OUT HERE? WHYYYY ARE WE OUTSIDE!? DID YOU KNOW THAT THIS DOOR WILL TAKE US BACK INSIDE IF YOU JUST COME OVER AND OPEN IT? THIS IS ALL SO VERY TERRIFYING!!!"

I feel like we may have done something wrong in this dog-owner relationship but I can't quite pinpoint what.

So anyway, by the time we finished our lattes and New Girl (WATCH IT IMMEDIATELY IF YOU ARE NOT ALREADY), it was sleepy time so dinner didn't really matter.

Okay, no big deal, we can skip dinner every so often, right?

Except. We did the exact same thing last night. Minus the hand-holding because, seriously, too much of that is just gross.

When we went to bed last night, I sighed.

"I'm SO HUNGRY," I whined in the darkness.

"Me too," Jack said.

"We probably should have eaten dinner," I said.

Because, you know, we are adults and all. And hey, there is a way to fix this problem! Cook dinner! Eat it!

We went to sleep instead.

Which, judging by my recent cooking experience, was probably a good choice. Because the last dinner I tried to cook? Ranch burgers with fries?

Didn't go well.

Actually, the ranch burgers went okay. (Except that they were "bland" according to Jack, which, stab stab stab.)

But the fries.

See, I've never made fries before (or deep fried anything before). And instead of, you know, Googling anything or finding some kind of recipe for said fries, I just kind of cut up potatoes into French fry shapes and heated up a bunch of oil in a pot.

And I kept heating it and heating it and heating it. And darn if it didn't boil like I thought it was supposed to.

I put one "test fry" in the oil and it made a terrible hissing sound. Within 6 seconds it was burned to a crisp on the outside and still completely raw on the inside.

COOKING TIP: DON'T TRY TO HEAT OIL TO BOILING; IT WILL NOT TURN OUT WELL.

Candy told me to put a thermometer to if it was 375 degrees yet.

The digital thermometer didn't even return a number. It just said "HI," as in "HOLY CRAP, MANDY WHAT ARE YOU TRYING TO DO TO THIS OIL!?" I took it off the burner and smoke immediately began pouring out of the pan.

Jack and I began running around, turning on fans and opening windows as our house filled with smoke. The dog was sneezing and our eyes were burning and it was getting hard to see anything through the haze.

So we did what any adults would do while the smoke cleared - we grabbed our burgers and walked over to my mommy's house down the street.

Oddly, they didn't even question it when we walked in with our plates and burgers. Just started talking to us like nothing was odd at all about us bringing our dinner over to eat there.

I guess by now everybody's used to my cooking.


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*At 10:40? Can they really kick you out at 10:40 when they actually close at 11? I was kind of unhappy about this but I never question a Barista (THEY HAZ DA DRUGZ!) so we did leave.
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