Night before last, hubby mentioned, uncannily just as I was thinking the same thing, that I ought to keep a dinner diary. I have been, to quote him, "Hitting it out of the park," lately with my culinary creations, most of which are conceived about 45 minutes before it's time to eat. Take that Iron Chef!
For a long time, a long time ago, I thought I'd always be a professional chef. Now, I just do dinner theater, watching the demi-god known as Bourdain roam the planet eating pork like Bubba Gump ate shrimp. I love that man. No really, I love him. Like him, though, I think I'm just too old now to belly up to the old Vulcan to sling carmelized shi-shi.
So, now that I decided to write about dinner, well, it's time to go cook dinner. Tofu satay tonight.
