80 Proof

This recipe is not mine, nor was it my idea to cook. In fact, I almost threw them out earlier that day, thinking something rotten was about to infect our entire kitchen. I am referring, of course, to perfectly edible and delicious plantains allowed to ripen to a nice black color. Gansie often freezes over-ripe bananas and I assumed she had left them out on the countertop, but happened to notice a tiny sticker that said otherwise.

To be honest, I wasn’t too enthused about cooking this Sunday. I had just gotten back from another beating at the Pai Gow tables in AC (well, there is only so much you can lose when you bet on a student income), and had a paper due the next day. While I attempted to educate myself on the finer details on path dependency as it relates to climate change agenda setting, Gansie was watcing the Oscars at just the right volume so I could hear when something good was happening — of course meaning I got up every 5 minutes.

During all this non-paper writing activity, hunger hit. Not wanting to cook a real dinner, Gansie suggested we cook the blackened plantains. After a couple of minutes of attempting to read, the smell of heating oil brought me out of my daze. I am but a simple person at heart, and a chance to fry something can never be turned down.