Last night I made some food and I didn’t write about it. I was far too upset over the bullshit that happened in Justice League of America #4 (Here’s a cool spoilerific tumblr post about my totally normal grown ass adult anger over a comic book in which I say the word “fuck” a lot). To paraphrase The Simpsons – A character in a book is having problems! I have feelings about this! FEELINGS!!! *falls to the floor sobbing*
I am not yet over it but here’s me writing about food anyway.
I really have no idea what I “should” be blogging about so I chose food like every other asshole with internet access. Is this good or bad? No clue. I have a worthless degree in writing and shit (the actual name of my degree is “Masters in Writin’ and Shit”) so you get a Chicken Tacos with Spanish-Style Rice blog post. It’s as good as novel. Except no one will read it. So it’s exactly like a novel.
Step 1: Cut up boneless, skinless chicken breasts into strips. Add cumin, chili powder, salt, and pepper. Again, I never measure spices. I just pour it on there and hope I don’t die.
Step 2: Add vegetable oil to a pan. Heat and throw in some onion & garlic. Garlic is, as we know, the life blood of all things. There is no such thing as too much garlic and if someone says there is, they are both misguided and wrong. Very, very wrong.
I looked at a lot of recipes for Spanish-style rice and they all said to use uncooked, rinsed rice at this stage. Ok. It went into the pan along with chopped hot jalapeno peppers. I didn’t have regular white rice but I did have Basmati rice. We’ll just call this shit “fusion”. “Rustic Fusion” since my poor knife skills are on display again.
Step 3: Time for chicken broth and tomato sauce. I threw some cumin in there as well because why not, right? Cover and simmer. This is always the stage where I start wondering if I’ve made a terrible, terrible mistake by not following a recipe and pretending I know anything about anything. I don’t know anything about anything! WHY DO I DO THIS TO MYSELF??
And then I realize I still have to cook other things so I stop caring if this food endeavor will equal a panicked call to a pizza joint (in LA. LA knows less about pizza than I do about things. STUFF AND THINGS, LORI!).
I threw the chicken in another pan and played the waiting game.
Step 4: Chicken is done. Rice…done? It started to stick to the bottom of the pan so, sure, it’s done. I could use some sort of magical time-keeping device to help me in my cooking but I’m sure I’d have to promise a wizard a first-born child or my foot or something and that just seems like a hassle.
I found these weird uncooked gluten-free corn tortilla things at the store. Taking advice from my coworker, I tossed them directly onto the grate. They caught fire. It was just like making smores except I wasn’t sticky and sad at the end.
Then I was done! Huzzah! It looked like this:
It was good. It was spicy, which is just what I wanted. I wanted my mouth to hurt as much as my heart – seriously, fuck you, DC. FUCK. YOU.