A few weeks ago I wrote about my totally healthy and in no way worrisome or restraining order-worthy obsession with “The Special One” Real Madrid manager and total silver fox Jose Mourinho and the puppet satire SpecialOneTV he inspired. I bemoaned my inability to find a Jose Mourinho bobblehead doll. Well, I found one, but it doesn’t have the Special Scarf. and what is a Special One doll without a Special Scarf? Nothing! I’m hoping one of my knitting friends will recreate for me a charcoal gray Armani wool muffler that would fit Jose. That’s healthy, right?
Candied Grapefruit Peel
Back in the heady days of 2008 a young Miss Plumcake very nearly got herself all married up to a French chef. Thankfully I received a stay of execution (although Andre was and shall remain a lambkins) but I still find myself yearning for his candied grapefruit peel. Working at a restaurant, plus the whole being-French thing means that he often rolled out of bed at the crack of noon and didn’t eat much in the way of breakfast. He kept a glass dome of little nibbly things on the kitchen counter. A few madeleines, a miniature palmier or two and several little stacks of candied grapefruit peel he made weekly. There is something about the almost mentholated coolness of the grapefruit oil with the crunch of the sugar and the chew of the peel. I’ve never been able to get them just right at home, so if you’ve got a tried and true recipe that will rival my Frenchman’s, put it in the comments!
It’s a waffle. With Scotch on it. It’s like peanut butter and chocolate or rich old guys and Texas strippers. Some things just go together. First you take a proper waffle –I’m not talking Eggo or something made from a mix– and while your waffle is getting all gorgeous and golden brown, you melt some butter and a decent pinch of salt. When your waffle is ready, pour a respectable quantity of melted butter all over it. Then pour an equally respectable portion of your favorite Speyside single malt Scotch. I use a 10 year-old Macallan. Top off with just a drizzle of hot maple syrup (the real deal, of course) and if you’re feeling ambitious, some toasted pecans. I have this once a year, usually around this time and it never does me wrong. The butter/salt/Scotch/syrup treatment is also delightful on pancakes and steel-cut oats.
I don’t want to overstate it, especially since the Angel of Death has clearly rented a condo in my familial zipcode as of late, but I might actually D.I.E. DIE if I don’t get my covetous little mitts on a piece of Saddleback luggage. It’s possible I’ve revealed this about myself before, but I’ve got a Rugged Individualist streak as long as the Pecos and twice as wide so deliciously rugged objets like this, which appeal both to my aesthete (gorgeous leather, beautiful construction, elegant classical lines) and my inner John Wayne (boot leather, 100 year warranty, no breakable parts) get my motor running in no small way. Plus it gets better looking the more you kick it around.
So what are YOU hoping to find in an bearded guy’s sack? Put it in the comments!