The evening began with our arrival and some Sierra Nevada Torpedo Extra IPAs we brought along. These amazing beers really got things going for my husband and Fidel, both of whom donned full Eagles regalia for the ensuing game against the Redskins (who might, i suppose, be "my" team, if i gave even half a shit about football. All i know is that the Eagles now have that sicko dog-eater on their team, which is hardly forgivable...but i digress...). Thus began a showcasing of a little something new for Fidel, dare i say for all of us: sporting equipment in the form of webbed shoes. These new-fangled Vibram Five Fingers (Um, toes? Thanks.) are evidently all the rage--and they are pretty cool, but i did notice some dipshit in a coffee shop the other day (not running) wearing them, and i really wanted to punch him in the nuts, if in fact he even had nuts. But Fidel runs the way any self-respecting foodie runs, and the way i would if i ever ran, EVER: with a beer in hand.
After filming this clip, i tried on the Vibrams, and although they were comfortable for the most part, the fabric and rubber between my toes gave me a sensation i can only describe as "violating". Like a greasy Chinaman to the foot prostitute, mayhaps...(too much?)
On to the food. I observed Fidel as he stirred, nay, caressed his bechamel to a creamy perfection before adding four kinds of cheese and some Barilla Plus elbows to the mix. He then topped it with Panko (Japanese breadcrumbs) and pats of Rich Creamery Butter:
Chef Gastro |
It was then baked to a golden perfection:
Meanwhile, in the CrockPot was more delicious alchemy, this one involving pork [insert cheering noises]. I am sorry to say that i have no idea what he did to those sweet pig cheeks, but the sandwich that they became was one of the best i have ever had, f'real! The slaw was something super special, evidently obtained at some magical Philadelphia farmer's market run by Slaw Gods, and the buns (the bread ones, not the pig ones) came from the bakery up the street from their house. They live in an awesome niche of Philly where everything quaint a whitey could want is in cobblestoney walking distance--enviable for sure, especially to we Salt Lakers--Salt Lake is somewhere between 99% and 100% void of quaintness. Here is the end result (note the side of pork with the pork):NOM NOM NOM Oh God, need more... |
Dave with the betrothed |
1. i want to live there, too. badly. see if marcos and kelly are in the market for a nanny, stat.
ReplyDelete2. my trainer wears the five-fingers, and i have to admit, i'm a bit jealous when it comes time for yoga and i'm strugglin' in my bare feet on the clammy mat. (TMI?)
3. newports?? holy disgusting. yet hilarious since i only had to hear about them rather than actually inhale that ish second hand.