Word of the day:
ganglion
Tomorrow's word of the day:
cyst
I baked pork roasts in chicken broth last night. Then a bit of flour, all good. Meant to shake a touch of corn starch in, and, well — I had a paste.
Broth smoothed it out a bit, but it was pretty poor consistently-wise. Probably should have whisked 9t but did not want to scratch the pan.
My gravy game needs work. Better at a demi-glacé.
Gravy. I make it every year because no one else will even attempt it. And . . . it's hit or miss. Sometimes we like it and sometimes we don't. It's one of our Thanksgiving traditions at this point - will Mom's gravy be any good? If it isn't, everybody just puts extra butter on their mashed potatoes.
Shut the heck up and get busy on those dishes!
May I refer you to Julia Child's turkey broth recipe and gravy studies?
No one, anywhere on this wonderful Planet Earth, can top my gravy or pie crust or gumbo.
You might say I'm a polymath. I couldn't possibly disagree with you.
Nothing incites bodily violence quicker than a Duke fan turning in your direction and saying 'scoreboard.'
In order to put this frustrated bad mood to good use, I have closed my office door and decided to clean the mother-loving heck out of it.
Farewell old snippets of once vital information that I instantly forgot about.
Comrades have been notified of the barbed under the welcome mat covering the hole in the floor.
Nothing incites bodily violence quicker than a Duke fan turning in your direction and saying 'scoreboard.'
I started filling up my big trash bin this morning. 12 pairs of pants to go to Goodwill on Friday. Still a long long way to go.
I need to clean out and trash things.
But destruction can be so much fun.
Coming home from the movies last night, I saw an armadillo in our driveway. That’s a first.