04 November 2009
i do not cook. baking? yes. cooking? big no.
that's not entirely true. for select persons (read: boys) i'll trot out tidbits from my culinary repertoire, but i aspire to neither feasty greatness nor complete, nutritional meals. the way to my heart is cheerios and wine.
so it is with some bemusement that i have taken on a social obligation that entails a weekly potluck.
up to this point my contributions have, admittedly, been sub par. not to impugn the wonder of store-bought tater tots, but they have been the apex of my efforts. however, this week, temporarily intoxicated by foolish dreams of epicurean glory, i decided to make Real Food. thus, i put on an apron and the bob dylan and danced about the kitchen and produced my masterpiece... a quiche lorraine.
you wouldn't know that though. looking at it, your first thought would be: oh lovely, oline's harvested bleached brain matter and served it gelatinized over a scorched fossil.
tater tots sounding pretty good about now, no?