A Most Excellent Dinner

First off, you guys all need to go and check out my Book Club girl Legs's blog here. For years, we have all been entertained by Legs's emails which veer so far off-subject that you can't help but read, intrigued and amused. YOU SHOULD START A BLOG, I think we all said. Or we would have, if we could stop laughing. Either way, she did, and it's awesome. 

And now onto the good stuff:

My friend, The Kid, made a pretty awesome dinner last night.

It was a bit of a surreal experience, because The Kid is now currently living in the house owned by his older brother, my bestest Wingman Lee who decided to get married to (the awesome) Hot Curry and move off to the (not quite so awesome? Jury's still out?) city of Salt Lake a year and a half ago. Also now residing in this house, where I spent many a reckless evening drinking vodka and complaining about my life, is my own dear brother. He and The Kid have actually made a lovely home in Lee's absence, and it was quite clean despite what you'd expect from two boys.

I say surreal, because it's always odd to walk into someone's house when they no longer live there, and see all the similarities and differences. The couch is in the same position, but it's not the same couch. The enlarged framed Boardwalk Monopoly card is still on the wall, but now it's opposite an epic picture of a crashing wave that The Kid "found in the shed out back." It's the same house, but it's different.

Anyway, before I get too sentimental, let me go back to the food. The Kid is a freaking fantastic cook, and I'd heard rumors of this fact from my brother who was amazed that cooking involved more than "heating things up." But my pal Emily and I had yet to witness this for ourselves, and so The Kid invited us over last night for one of his delicious meals. And hot damn, did he deliver. 

The Kid made us chicken parmesan. Seems pretty simple, right? I guess, but SOMEHOW IT TASTED MAGICAL. I have no idea how this happened. I was drinking wine the whole time, however, and babbling on about politics so I may have  missed some steps. 

Step one: pour wine. Into plastic glasses. Because we're classy.

The first step to being an excellent cook - get some tattoos. Then de-fat chicken breasts. Mohawk optional but preferred.

Step two: arrange radishes prettily next to panko bread crumbs, prepare dipping procedure. Make sure wine is handy.

Throw that shit in a pan, and brown it for the amount of time it takes Emily to find a parking space, come in, and pour herself a glass of wine. That's a metric measurement.

Stick them in the oven with some magic sauce and some mozzarella cheese on top and bake for the amount of time it takes for all three of us to catch up on gossip and make big plans for the future and drink more wine. Again - metric measurement.

Pull that 'ish out of the oven, cut in  half to test. The Kid says that the proper time to cook chick en and bacon is "until you think it needs just one more minute - that means it's done." Totes brill.

The Kid made us basil panna cotta with strawberries for dessert (NBD, RIGHT?!). Shown here with classy wine glass to prove that The Kid only purchases multi-use materials.

Long story short, it was an incredible dinner, and I had some incredible chicken parm leftovers for lunch today. You know something is good when you can microwave the hell out of it in your crappy work microwave, and it's still so delicious that you  have to stop answering emails at your desk to sit and enjoy the zen moment of cheese, breaded chicken, and marinara. Awesome.

In other news - The Gentleman arrives next week, and we are taking off for his hometown of Albuquerque, New Mexico, and from there on to Cancun for 6 days where I can be found lying on the beach reading Ann Patchett and drinking tropical things. Buh-bye.

Also - The Gentleman's family procured us tickets to go to the rodeo in NM. I. Cannot. Wait. Pictures to follow.