FRIDay. I mean FriDAY. I mean FRIDAY. I mean Friday.
Do you ever think about when you touch produce at the store, how that particular fruit or vegetable becomes yours IMMEDIATELY?
And I don’t mean like a pet, you weirdo.
I mean like, you touched it. People saw your grimey grubs touch it, and there’s no turning back. And the thing is, I know we’re supposed to approach this selection process in the completely different way! You touch each one. Examine it all over. What’s the ripest. What’s the juiciest. What’s the firmest, or softest. What has the best coloring all over.
I can’t do that. I have this strange internal paranoia, where if someone is hovering near me, about to pick out a red bell pepper for a stir fry on their menu that night, I panic, start sweating and grab the gnarliest one so I can just get out of their way.
Except avocados! I have ZERO qualms with man handling 35 avocados in order to find the perfect one. But that’s it. I can’t handle any other fruit or vegetable. I touch it. It’s mine. We were meant to be.
Unless I’m shopping WITH someone! This is a whole different scenario. I feel like if there’s a partner involved, I have less of a chance of being accused of spreading germs all over the harvest and ending up in produce prison. I have someone there who could back me, man.
“We were making sure it was the ripest melon, sir!”
“It’s for a photo shoot, officer!”
“We meant no harm, sir!”
These are the things I think about.
Have you ever noticed how the word bucket makes every single thing sound disgusting?
Think about this. Fish bucket. Chicken bucket. Shrimp bucket. Add the word bucket to the end of ANYTHING and it’s immediately trashed up for good.
Bean burrito bucket.
Chicken salad bucket.
“And for our special tonight, we have the pan-seared whole dover sole, with a meunière sauce, lemon, parsley, yukon potato and fresh haricot vert bucket.”
“Ohhhh, I think I’ll try the lightly smoked duck breast with the port wine reduction and the pea and spring ramp risotto bucket.”
This has been one of Aaron’s and my favorite running jokes for years and years. Now it can be yours! All yours!
p.s. Tiramisu bucket.
Oh! If you live in Kansas City, and want to snag a sitter on April 27th and come drank some dranks and ate some ates with meh, you should totally enter my little local Facebook giveaway. I’m partnering with Harvesters this year, and their first big event of the season is Forks and Corks, where they sample tons of local gourmet restaurants and cocktails and wine. (oh my?) It’s going to be a m a z i n g. And it’s for a good cause.
You should come! I promise I won’t make too big an idiot of myself. Maybe.
Alsoooo, if you’re into grilled cheese month (or grill cheeses in general) (or cheesy melts of any kind) (which obviously you are) (if you’re not Aaron), I’ve got a new post on Wisconsin Talk! It’s a Ham, Turkey and Swiss Melt (bucket), and it’s straight insanity. (it’s got pickles shoved in it.) (like, in the melt itself.) (I’ve gone deliciously loco.) (goodbye forever.)
The house painting is almost done! It looks STUNNING. Today the pergola gets a fresh coat, along with the front and back doors. Shutters will go back up, and Aaron will build new window boxes this weekend. But now of course I’m like, WE NEED NEW HOUSE NUMBERS. Where do you buy house numbers? I mean, besides Lowe’s and Home Depot. Is there a cool number (bucket) shop that I need to know about? You know I count on you for things like this in my life.
Other than that, we’ll work on getting the garden (bucket) in place, and Easter our faces off on Sunday.
Oh! I started Love, on Netflix. Only one episode in and I’m like WA-HOWZA. Wanna watch it with me?!
p.s. beef stroganoff bucket.