Dinner Party

Z and I are not into competition style TV shows unless they are on The Food Network, and even then we watch only a handful. Listen, I’ve got nothing against crap TV. In fact, I adore crap TV, but the competition stuff just doesn’t tend to speak to us. The major exception to that rule is Worst Cooks In America. We’ve watched every season. When the ads start playing for the new shows we get downright giddy. We love it because the contestants are supportive of each other, they are genuinely trying to learn a new skill, and there is no meanness. Most importantly it is fucking hilarious. It would be like me doing a computer programing contest. The fish out of water thing is a lot of fun.

The show premiered Sunday and Z missed the first 15 minutes. I was DRVing it, but he told me it was so close to the beginning that I didn’t have to rewind for him. “Oh, you really want to see all of it.” I told him. I’d already laughed so hard I cried twice. And when he saw one of the contestants dry heaving after he tasted his own cooking he thought it was hilarious as well. But he agreed that the best part was the feisty lady who was vocally in lust with Bobby Flay. She had on nails with a capital N. By the time she was done cooking one of her thumb nails was mysteriously missing. Watching it the second time was just as good as the first, better actually because I had someone reduced to tears of hysteria right next to me. “How does that even happen?” I asked as I was gasping for air. Thankfully, she wasn’t eliminated at the end of the episode. She is awesome and I really hope she does learn to cook. I’ll tell you what, every finale we’ve watched in the series has had us crying sincere tears as we cheer on both contestants who have learned so much in a few weeks. And the episode where the final four cook for their families? Forget about it. Z and I weep for the whole hour.

For a few years I baked professionally. I’m not a chef, but I do know my way around a kitchen. Anyone could learn what I know how to do. Baking and cooking are no great mysteries, to be competent you don’t need innate talent or artistic ability, you need to take the time to learn. So it isn’t like I have this great secret talent, I’ve just acquired a skill that a monkey could master given enough time. I cook for our family because I love to cook.

On Sunday I made ravioli for our dinner last night so I only had to worry about making the sauce and dessert yesterday. I was in good shape before our guests arrived. I even remembered to grate some parmesan. I have an awesome box grater that was made by microplane. Awesome, but kind of dangerous. It is sharp as fucking hell. I was using the medium holes to make delightful little curls of parm when I pulled my hand back fast and said, “Oh shit, shit, shit, shit,” Z grabbed my hand. “Are you ok? Let me see.” “I fucking cut my nail. Shit, I can’t find the piece of nail, Z. What do I do?” Z thought about it for half a sec. “Forget about it. No one is ever going to know.” After sifting through the cheese looking for the piece I considered throwing it out…and then I just put the bowl on the table. After a moment Z said, “You realize you are that woman on Worst Cooks In America right?” And again I laughed so hard I cried.

thumb nail

I mean, come on. It was my thumb just like the TV lady. Although it was only a small piece of nail in my case. I keep mine trimmed super short. The other difference is Bobby Flay doesn’t interest me at all.

So what is the moral to this rambly lesson? If you come to dinner at our house I will make you decent food usually made from scratch with love. But be warned, we are gross enough to also serve you body parts. I mean, this was the first time I knowingly served part of my body along with the food, but what if fingernails are gateway drugs to cannibalism? This could be a very slippery slope for us. One minute I’m accidently including nails, the next I’m feeding Ray Liotta his own brain in my dinning room. Clearly we are not to be trusted.

 Even worse than the body parts is  my social ineptitude. I don’t know how I ever make friends I am so painfully awkward in social situations. Just thinking about my inability to act like a normal human last night makes me way more embarrassed than the nail situation. It’s best for everyone if I stay in the kitchen as much as possible. Even if it does mean eating body parts.

breakfast pie

The best part of dinner parties? Key Lime Pie and fresh whipped cream for breakfast. I’m in love with this pie. It’s the 3rd time I’ve made it this month. And yes, I’m back to cowardly Instagram.

waiting for pie

Someone was having a little trouble waiting for his bite of pie.

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