I was in a mood for pasta. Last night, after finishing some homework (okay, who I am kidding, I was reading trashy novels/watching TV/reading the Pioneer Woman blog/walking my dog), I realized I must be deficient in some vitamin found only in flour. Yeah, vitamin F. As in fat, flabby, f_____ (some other “f” word that brings to mind jiggly tummy and thighs that applaud when you walk—you pick). Good ol’ vitamin F. My body is an episode of Sesame Street brought to you by vitamin F.
Like any normal person, I hopped in my car for a late-night run to Wal-Mart. On the drive, I happened to notice the time and figured by the time I actually got home and cooked everything, it would be late Late LATE, like midnight-ish. So, I practiced some unusual self-restraint and promised myself I would cook it the next night (which happened to be today after work). (Okay, self-restraint may be stretching it… I promised myself some loaded-baked-potato bites on the way home for having to forgo my pasta. And I got the large. And a roast beef sandwhich.)
I decided to try some recipes from the Pioneer Woman. I combined two recipes into one—I wound up with Blue Cheese Tomato Pasta alla Vodka. (She has one recipe for tomato and blue cheese sauce, another sauce alla vodka.)
In the end, I realized I made pasta covered vomit. Really. See evidence below.
However, never one to be put off my food by appearance, I ate a bowl. It tastes okay. Tastes better with salt.
Tastes even better with vitamin W.
(or is that vitamin A? I can never keep them straight.)
I thought about adding in some vitamin V. However, I had left V in the Wal-Mart bag yesterday, and found ooey gooey nastiness this evening.
From the top it looks okay. Flip it over-- welcome to brown slimyville.
I can’t wait to have everyone over for supper one evening!
No comments:
Post a Comment