It's 11:26 a.m.
It's 11:26 a.m., Wednesday, November 21, 2007. I'm reading The Times' food section and thinking about my now six-months (six months, one day, ll hours, roughly) dead father.
I kind of miss the old bird. Were he alive, I can assure you that at some point between now and Friday we would have had one or more in-depth discussions about the many ways to cook onions and their respective relative merits.
Turkey would have come up, yes. But with the unspoken, mutual understanding that it exists solely as an excuse for eating roasted onions--much the way artichokes are really just vehicles for eating Duke's mayonnaise.
Someday before I die I'd like to try that whole thing where you deep fry the turkey out behind the garage.
Why is it that all I can think about now is onion rings?
I kind of miss the old bird. Were he alive, I can assure you that at some point between now and Friday we would have had one or more in-depth discussions about the many ways to cook onions and their respective relative merits.
Turkey would have come up, yes. But with the unspoken, mutual understanding that it exists solely as an excuse for eating roasted onions--much the way artichokes are really just vehicles for eating Duke's mayonnaise.
Someday before I die I'd like to try that whole thing where you deep fry the turkey out behind the garage.
Why is it that all I can think about now is onion rings?
posted by Geoffrey at 8:26 AM
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