Saturday Aug 18'2012
4:00pm
Today Akshee and I set out on an all female excursion. She has requested that I make pasta, why the hell I decided to make spaghetti and meatballs in a vegetarian country is beyond me. But never the less, out we went to gather the ingredients for my potentially catastrophic attempt at a home cooked italian meal. No Ma'am, no parsley. No Ma'am, no parmesan. And of course we're having chicken meatballs because beef doesn't exist, unless of course I took two steps outside my front door and butchered one of the 15 standing on the road... But then I'd most likely find the same fate as the cow. Without access to most of the ingredients, I'm basically heating up ridiculously over priced tomato sauce and smushing breadcrumbs (curtesy of Akshee and a toaster), chicken, eggs, and SOY milk into balls. Yumm-o. But if nothing more, it was fun to spend the afternoon hopping from grocery store, to market, to food stand to... indian butcher. Just us gals out on the town doing the lady business. Tomorrow night the kitchen belongs to Mama Chelsea. God help us all.
Sunday Aug 19'2012
6:00pm
Hmm. I don't quite know how to express what just happened in the kitchen. Indian stoves are intense. If I had my way, India would live off a raw food diet, and never turn that god forsaken stove on again. No wonder most people have cooks. Make them sweat out their entire body fluid supply all for one meal. No one in their right mind should ever cook a meal in India. It makes sense why their meals are all salty. Seasoning? No, try sweat. Ok so I melted. I literally put my blood sweat and tears into my meal. Except not my blood. I could have been crying over how hot it was but I wouldn't have noticed through the sweat.
First of all there is no "low heat" on stoves here. Simmer is a joke. So for meatballs that are supposed to slowly cook in simmering sauce for 4 hours, well no, that didn't happen. 1 hour I see that they are looking kind of cooked. Like a lot cooked. So I cut one open to see. Well, all I can say to that is I definitely didn't have to worry about concocting a disease from the meat. If the chicken wasn't already dead, it certainly was now, along with anything else microscopic that might have been festering in it. Thems balls were fried, dried, and stupified. Oh Chelsea, why do you agree to doing things you shouldn't? And in this very moment I had a startling realization. I have not cooked a meal (grilled cheese and soup not included) in one whole year. It has been an entire year since I actually put the effort in to create a well balanced, microwave and delivery free meal. I am not exaggerating. Holy shit. And now I'm standing over a scorching hot stove top, watching my chicken balls become rocks floating in burning overheated sauce. Potentially poor life choice numero 3?
To my jaw dropping surprise, it actually turned out ok. I actually managed to pull it off, and even finish with a homemade garlic buttered garlic bread. Yes, the balls weren't the most moist balls I've tasted, but they did manage to have some kind of flavour other than cardboard, so that was good enough for me. And everyone else apparently.
Basically what I'm saying is I have magical powers. I have a horseshoe up my ass and I can do no wrong.
But chicken meatballs are still very wrong. I do not condone what I did here tonight.
4:00pm
Today Akshee and I set out on an all female excursion. She has requested that I make pasta, why the hell I decided to make spaghetti and meatballs in a vegetarian country is beyond me. But never the less, out we went to gather the ingredients for my potentially catastrophic attempt at a home cooked italian meal. No Ma'am, no parsley. No Ma'am, no parmesan. And of course we're having chicken meatballs because beef doesn't exist, unless of course I took two steps outside my front door and butchered one of the 15 standing on the road... But then I'd most likely find the same fate as the cow. Without access to most of the ingredients, I'm basically heating up ridiculously over priced tomato sauce and smushing breadcrumbs (curtesy of Akshee and a toaster), chicken, eggs, and SOY milk into balls. Yumm-o. But if nothing more, it was fun to spend the afternoon hopping from grocery store, to market, to food stand to... indian butcher. Just us gals out on the town doing the lady business. Tomorrow night the kitchen belongs to Mama Chelsea. God help us all.
Sunday Aug 19'2012
6:00pm
Hmm. I don't quite know how to express what just happened in the kitchen. Indian stoves are intense. If I had my way, India would live off a raw food diet, and never turn that god forsaken stove on again. No wonder most people have cooks. Make them sweat out their entire body fluid supply all for one meal. No one in their right mind should ever cook a meal in India. It makes sense why their meals are all salty. Seasoning? No, try sweat. Ok so I melted. I literally put my blood sweat and tears into my meal. Except not my blood. I could have been crying over how hot it was but I wouldn't have noticed through the sweat.
First of all there is no "low heat" on stoves here. Simmer is a joke. So for meatballs that are supposed to slowly cook in simmering sauce for 4 hours, well no, that didn't happen. 1 hour I see that they are looking kind of cooked. Like a lot cooked. So I cut one open to see. Well, all I can say to that is I definitely didn't have to worry about concocting a disease from the meat. If the chicken wasn't already dead, it certainly was now, along with anything else microscopic that might have been festering in it. Thems balls were fried, dried, and stupified. Oh Chelsea, why do you agree to doing things you shouldn't? And in this very moment I had a startling realization. I have not cooked a meal (grilled cheese and soup not included) in one whole year. It has been an entire year since I actually put the effort in to create a well balanced, microwave and delivery free meal. I am not exaggerating. Holy shit. And now I'm standing over a scorching hot stove top, watching my chicken balls become rocks floating in burning overheated sauce. Potentially poor life choice numero 3?
To my jaw dropping surprise, it actually turned out ok. I actually managed to pull it off, and even finish with a homemade garlic buttered garlic bread. Yes, the balls weren't the most moist balls I've tasted, but they did manage to have some kind of flavour other than cardboard, so that was good enough for me. And everyone else apparently.
Basically what I'm saying is I have magical powers. I have a horseshoe up my ass and I can do no wrong.
But chicken meatballs are still very wrong. I do not condone what I did here tonight.
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