I Scored A Peach!

I’m thinking of changing my name to Georgia. It has a nice roll to it no? “Georgia Q”. Either that or Mooch. Mooch Q has the same OO going for it that boo does so it wouldn’t be as drastic a change. True, it has nothing to do with peaches but sadly, it’s slightly more accurate.

Anyway, I was busy doing the part of my job that has me run around all over the place (but not in the way that makes me think, “GodDAMMIT! I’m going to wear my legs to little nubbly nubs doing all this running around.”) and I happened on someone up on the 9th floor whom I needed to ask a question of anyway. The truly lazy learn to batch process these sorts of things because damned if I was going to come all the way back up just to ask one question when I was going to be up there anyhow as part of my running all over the place. So we talked about this and that and lo! Come to find out that she had extra peaches that she had picked up fresh from the farmer’s market that morning.

One thing lead to another and the next thing I knew I was walking off with a fresh, juicy, perfectly ripe peach. For the record, she offered the peach to me without my making any eyes or moue-y faces at the peaches at all. Apparently, she was all about sharing the peach love and I was in the right place at the right time. That’s the sign of a true master mooch right there folks.

When you can take the peach from their hand and leave them to believe that it was their idea all the time, then you will know that you are a master.

Oh hey…I just shot peach juice up my nose. That was unexpected.

Alright then. Peach crisis aside, not a whole lot of burning interest has been happening around the Q house. So far this week I’ve tackled dinner twice and twice it’s been moderately adequate. Monday night’s fare was a change up dinner of breakfast in the evening. Mostly, it was because I totally forgot that I was going to make TheMan a nice, hearty, farm style breakfast that morning. Whoops. Ahh well, there’s nothing that says you can’t have omelets, sausages and biscuits for dinner right? Right???!? Absolutely! However, I think there might be something that says “As cool as it sounds, cooking the omelet in the grease from the sausages isn’t going to work as well as you think it’s going to. And also? The sausages are never going to brown if you keep them at that heat.” Which it didn’t and they didn’t respectively. I did manage to somehow get every single sausage to burst out of their casing like a dozen metamorphosized sausage bugs but I don’t think that’s a culinary event one brags about.

Nude sausage isn’t that bad, actually. Sadly, the sausage grease and bits of discarded sausage casing cooked themselves to the bottom of the pan, which caused the omelet to stick and burn to the bottom of the pan. Hrrrrm. I solved my burning omelet problem by shoving the whole kit and caboodle into the oven (where the slightly over done biscuits had just come from. Yeah, oops) whereupon the omelet became an egg bake. Hey, it worked, the whatever-it-was-now didn’t burn black and dinner was more or less good. The pan, however, was really really hot. Note to self: When the whole pan is in the oven, the whole pan gets hot.

Tuesday’s eats were really more a fault of the manufacturer of the bag o’ crock pot. I followed the direction to a T, save the whole “put the potatoes in a half hour before serving” because I don’t believe in crock potting that involves some attention after you put the ingredients in the pot, and it was fantastically bland. I’ve crocked before; you can put taters in from step one and the world doesn’t come to an end so I’m thinking they just don’t have a superior product.

Tonight is TheMan’s game so we’ll probably pick up something light but Thursday I have plans for a shepherd’s pie thing. Something I make this week will turn out fantastic or there will be a reckoning.


Last year at the booniverse: Crivins! Would you look at that?

Last last year at the booniverse: I’ve completely burned the entry to the bottom of the pan.

The year before at the booniverse: JSFR: Corn Pretz

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