Bake. Laugh. Eat. Repeat.
Let’s face it: quesadillas are all kinds of messy. Which is why they’re the perfect candidate for skillet containment.
You could bake your quesadillas on a baking sheet. Sure, you could do that.
But let’s just sit for a spell, talking of skillets, and then see if you want to bust out that baking sheet. We’ll see…
It has been my experience that being married to an Italian person requires a significant amount of time spent discussing pizza.
Prior to meeting A., I mistakenly believed that pizza was just the product of a very simple equation:
dough + sauce + cheese = pizza (The End.)
Oh, sweet mother of a pizzaiolo, how wrong I was.
First, you’ve got your Crustology: thin, thicker, thickest and baked in a pan, crispy, bubbled, or flavored (sacrilege!).
And the crust really can make or break a pie: it’s the vehicle for your goodness so it needs to be strong enough to travel well. But it can’t be so assertive as to steal the spotlight away from the toppings, right? Sì, signora.
Once upon a time there was a girl of German descent living with a boy of Italian descent in the desert of the American Southwest.
Boy and Girl enjoyed eating Thai food, drinking Mexican spirits, and cheering for Canadian hockey teams.
One day girl decided to get back to her roots and whip up some coleslaw. Boy was on board – he liked to live dangerously. Achtung!
And the time was right. Spring had sprung (Girl knew it to be true because she had started craving fresh fruits and veggies instead of chicken nuggets and Hot Pockets): the last of the winter cabbage crop was still robust, and local farms were bursting with fresh, fragrant Spring onions.
The clock read ‘coleslaw’, and Girl was on the stick.
An Open Letter To The Makers Of Fritos
Dear M/M Frito,
Please stop making Frito chips so addictive. Please. I’m asking you nicely.
You’ve clearly put some time into making and marketing your product. And that’s just fine. But now I’m in need of some assistance and support, and you’re in a position to help.
Allow me to hit you with some knowledge.
Imagine sitting down with a bag of Fritos to a reality TV marathon (I’m seeking assistance elsewhere for my new X Factor addiction). Innocent enough.
You’ll just have a few of those chips, right?
You would never supplement that first bag of Fritos with a second bag of Fritos. No sir. No way.
So why are you waking up from your sweet dreams of Simon & Paula banter with a Frito mustache? And why is your head delicately cushioned by a pillow fashioned from Frito bags?
Why?
Shame spiral.
