Clearly I was shaken up. Last week I welcomed the news of two engagements of very dear friends. The term “dear friends” is quite obnoxious, I know, but these are like super good friends, well, couples, and I am so excited. That must be the only excuse for this fuck up. Because unlike most other times I open up my oven to face a disaster, I actually followed a recipe.
My friend Hickey, of one of the engaged couples, came to DC from her home in Pennsylvania and I gladly made us dinner. I wasn’t actually sure what to put together but basically I stuffed a lot of crap inside this huge pumpkin-shaped eggplant. It was an elaborate, multi-step experience and while the inside concoction of corn, tomatoes, blended eggplant, ricotta and I forget what else was surely tasty, the outer shell of the eggplant did not cook fully and basically served the function of a ceramic bowl, which is of course not the point of baking food in something edible in the first place.
But that wasn’t even the worst part. Shit, the crappy Cook’s champagne wasn’t even the worst. T’was the kale.
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