T’is the season, to stop eating chocolate and drinking eggnog as if they were the staples of the Canada Food Guide.
Every January, I vow to eat better. One of the reasons I don’t write restaurant reviews is because a five-star Michelin deal by me would end with the words: “You get lots man. Five troughs out of five.”
Recently, I heard the dreaded words from My Reason For Living: “Honey, do you want to try this recipe from the Weight Watchers cookbook?”
The correct answer, of course, is: “Honey, you look great, you don’t need that. Want to split an extra large meat lovers’ special with anchovies?”
I opted for: “Sure, let me cook it.”
I approach cooking like a high school Social Studies final exam. Wait until the last minute and what you don’t know, make up. I chose to prepare something called faux gumbo.
It looked good, with such important ingredients as shrimp, chicken and kielbasa, practically a meat lovers’ special.
I headed down to the local grocers, loaded up on the ingredients, which included things I’ve never heard of like scallions and okra, which I refused to serve because of my love for whales.
However, because we were entering the bowl season – Rose, Orange, Super – I knew it would be financially prudent to buy the biggest ring of sausage this side of Mundare.
I sped things up by ignoring such things as de-vein shrimp. Yeah, right. What am I, a vet?
It was then I was told to add a 2’’ piece of kielbasa cut into eight slices.
I’m not a carpenter.
Surely 2’’ meant two feet, not even Foothills Comp woodworking teacher Cyril Reschny could slice a two-inch kielbasa into eight slices.
I assumed it was two feet.
However, after cutting the ring, I realized my three-inch slices of sausages would mean I would have to serve supper with defibrillator paddles and instructions on the Heimlich manoeuvre.
So I opted to pick my own size. And because it was Weight Watchers, I didn’t use the whole two feet (but a heck of a lot more than two inches).
The instructions then said simmer and cover for 15 minutes.
While obediently stirring occasionally, I couldn’t help but notice a rather generous hunk of kielbasa on the counter.
I’m sure the recipe read somewhere: ‘nibble generously.”
I consumed all but about, well, 2’’ of the sausage. This is akin to leaving the last cookie in the jar — no way mom will notice.
Supper was ready and showing great restraint I only had two servings. I’m hooked. I’m ready to prepare my next dish. Something I call a faux vegetarian pizza.
With anchovies, of course.
