Occasionally, I’ll watch a cooking show on TV. The chef will combine a large number of hard-to-find ingredients then sauté, braise, broil, deep-fry, or bake the delicacy to perfection. It never turns out lopsided, burnt to a crisp, or looking like you scraped it off the road. (They must be using with a different wine.)
My least favorite part of the show is when they sample and rave about how delicious it is. Just once, I’d like to see the chef get a shocked look on his/her face, rush over to the sink, spit out the food, and declare, “Damn, that tastes like shit!” Now, that would be reality cooking at its best.
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“Did you hear about the sale down at Bunions?” The excitement in Chrissy’s voice bubbled through the phone.
“No, but I love a good sale. A girl can’t have too many shoes.” Bev’s sandal-clad toes wiggled with anticipation.
“Amen, sister. And this is their annual two-for-the-price-of-three sale. They’re also having a hurricane special on a new line of shoes called Irma that are imported from Florida.”
“Wow, this sounds too good to be true.” Bev giggled.
“Yeah, and get this,” Chrissy whispered. “They come pre-molded. They’ll fit in perfectly with the other two hundred pair aging in my closet.”