The enormity of life perpetually humbles me.
That’s my excuse when I forget shit, what’s yours?
My motive with this post is to inspire you to be creative with your forgetfulness. Even with decades of kitchen experience, I behave as you, as you can me, in the kitch.
Example: DON’T allow unexplored insecurity to throw perfectly good food away.
This potato and I have seen a lot before our paths collided. I respect the dirty field it grew up in, ignorant of location.
I cut little circles of parchment and popped ‘em on top because I’m professional.
Then I wrapped one in cellophane and slid the other inside a sandwich bag. Use whatever you have as long as it barricades your soon-to-be fudge from absorbing refrigerator stench.
Come on, everyone’s fridge stinks.
3 hours later...
I ripped into my 3-day-old forgotten spud after a proper dinner. Its taste/texture combo plastered the word FUDGE on my brain.
That’s why I went with: Fake Fudge.
Can you imagine if I allowed Google’s fears to alter my gut instincts?
This rippin’ little morsel of foodborne sweetness wouldn’t see the daylight of a tastebud or the dark alley of an esophagus.
I did belch a bit more than usual after consumption, but that could’ve been from anything, like the overall enormity of life.
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