This morning, Cuttlespouse left for a weekend with friends. Cuttlehouse is, of course, significantly quieter. To compensate, the stereo is considerably louder right now, playing music Cuttlespouse does not care for. Don’t worry–there is plenty of Cuttlespouse-approved music that I love, so this is not a sign of hardship on my part. But that’s not what I am here to write about. That, after the jump:
As with music, so with food. I am cooking my favorite foods that Cuttlespouse does not share my love of. Again, there is plenty of food we agree on, and I am a damned fine cook, so we eat well most of the time. (Some experiments do not work out, so I eat most of the failed hypotheses, and of course we are limited in budget, so we are more likely to have something from our own garden than, say, caviar.) But there are things Cuttlespouse likes that I do not (I’m not a big fan of chicken in a lot of forms, and I would sooner go without than eat a New England Boiled Dinner), and things I like that Cuttlespouse does not.
So, as I write, the house smells of Tuscan Cuttlefish Stew. Oops, I mean cuttlefish stew–it is not an eponymous recipe; rather, I am having my cousins for dinner. And in the fridge, marinating, is tomorrow’s feast of internal organs. Neither of these are in my top ten foods, but I get to eat those with Cuttlespouse, so there is no need to cook those today. (Ok, actually, tomorrow’s dinner is my all time number one–but don’t tell Cuttlespouse!)
So, appropriately, something from 3 years ago or so…
I would never eat fishes, except they’re delishes,
And lead my poor stomach to growl.
And one of my vices, with handfuls of spices,
I think that it’s fair to eat fowl.
I find an appeal in a meal of sweet veal;
I’ll eat all that my funds will allow.
And I will not lose sleep while I keep eating sheep,
Or a goat, or a bear, or a sow.
I’ve eaten grilled squid, and I’m glad that I did,
I think whale meat might give me a thrill–
If you don’t like my menu, be careful, cos when you
Say “bite me!”, the odds are… I will.
Oh, and last night I invented a drink–I have not seen it named yet (I googled), so I am claiming it as my own. It is deceptively sweet, but dangerous. I call it a “cuttlefish”. (you can name your own drink after yourself.) Very simple: Kraken rum and heavy cream. For me, no ice, but I know Cuttlespouse would want it frozen, which would put it in the far more dangerous “milkshake of doom” category. And no, not milk, not half & half, not light cream. Those would be pale shadows of the yumminess that is this drink. And as such, not nearly as dangerous. So… don’t try this at home; we’re trained professionals here, and all that.
Dammit, I started writing this to distract me while the cuttlefish stew was simmering. Isn’t it done yet? I’m ready to chew a tentacle off with frustration!
So sorry none of you (that I am aware of) are within hailing distance; I have made entirely too much stew, and would be happy to share it. For now, though, I am signing off and grabbing a plate. Enjoy your evening, whatever inferior food you are eating!
Update: This cuttlefish stew is one of the best damned things I have ever tasted!