Oh Liarpants… my daddy laughed out loud at you. I didn’t even have to Google it for him to tell me you were full of shit.
D- Babydoll… that is seriously pathological…. but wait… you never even told me he was a chef? If this guy is the James Beard Rising Star then I should have heard about his cooking…and I happen to know that Gabriel Rucker won this year.
J- Well….. he makes torchon. It’s his big deal. Ewww. He made me dinner once… but it was pretty bad. Too salty… with some sort of sausage, broccoli, crayfish soupy stuff under a steak… with a bone.
D- Oh. My. HA HA HA. You hate meat on the bone.
J- I know, but he had already bought it… and you know me… what was I going to say?
D- I don’t like meat on the bone?
J- Yeah right.
But… and I only know this because I am an absolute brat…
He’s not a very good cook… and I couldn’t finish it because it was so salty and so… well… overcooked. Dude if I want to eat broccoli paste? I’ll have my 11 year old boil some for me.
The steak was perfect… after you fought your way around all that nasty fatty disgustingness. Blech, gag… wretch.
They say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach…. but it’s not. It’s through his balls and we all know it. The way to a woman’s heart is a man that knows how to be domestic in order to delight her.
Tell me about it.
Talk to me while you cook and tell me what you’re doing.
It’s the highest form of foreplay you can achieve with me and if it’s done well? I’m sold. I’ll buy the farm. I’ve already picked out china patterns in my head after the second course if it’s really good.
I do not leave food on my plate…. hence the chunk-tastic thighs.
I also only send one thing back when I don’t like it…. and that’s steak….
and how on earth do you send the steak back if it’s your boyfriend cooking it? You don’t. That’s what. You suck it up and eat it…
Even when you don’t like it…. and you pray he doesn’t notice that you hardly touched it…
Even though you know he did.
You make excuses. You’re tired. You’re feet hurt. You want to take his clothes off and really thank him appropriately.
lol… or you’d rather get laid than eat another bite.
Either way- it worked… and I was pushing away my plate in minutes. Wondering how long it’d take him to pass out before I could eat a bowl of Lucky Charms.
Annoyed enough at how bad it was to be a brat about it… dice some onions and garlic and REALLY cook dinner.
Show him how it’s done… Mr. I-wish-I-could-be-talented Steinbauer.
Dude… put down the salt and walk away slowly so that people can eat your food without three glasses of water.
Which improved the taste exponentially- thank you.
Watching him shake like a crazy person while trying to cut his steak sort of takes my mind off the taste in my mouth. I’m grinning at him, thanking him for the amazing dinner… lying through my teeth.
It’s the thought that counts, right?
When it comes to food? It’s the taste that counts. Sheesh. Buy a clue, Liarpants.
But the James Beard?
Give me a fucking break. Do I look like an idiot? Or just play one convincingly?
The James Beard Rising Star award is the epitome of chef-dom. It’s what they all pray for when they close their eyes at night. They all want it.
None of them get it.
Least of all, Liarpants with his nasty ass too salty overcooked broccoli.
Dude… please… you have to get up very very very early to fool a foodie…
and the closest you’re getting to a James Beard? Is to Google it.
BTW…. it’s his birthday…