I made a hug out of blankets.  One big fluffy blanket wrapped around my legs, and one big fluffy blanket draped over my shoulders.  It was glorious.  Until manchild came into the room to grab his uniform top, and told me I looked pathetic.  Jealous much?

He gave me the phone number for the QC area, in case I need to reach him.  Then told me if I think I’m dying, to call 911 first.  We’re all dying, pal.  It’s the heart stuff that scares him the most, but this is just my body adjusting to losing a chemical crutch, and I’m not too concerned.  My blood pressure’s low, my heart rate is low, and I’m a tiny bit hypoxic.  All this means is I need blankets, and he should probably avoid looking at me because my skin it 10 shades whiter.  It’s like staring directly at the sun.

I loaded up on caffeine and sodium in an attempt to shock myself back to the land of the living, but the only thing that woke up was my brain.  I wanted to make a Stromboli for manchild for dinner, but all we have is cheese.  My culinary gears cranked, grinded, and smoked until they gave birth to the Breakfast Stromboli.  My idea for this was to make a yeasted pancake dough, fill the stromboli with chorizo, eggs, and cheddar, and offer maple syrup for dipping.  Is that fucking brilliant, or what?  I’m sure it is, theoretically.  I made it as far as the dough – whole wheat flour is a nightmare to knead, but it smells delicious.  I ran out of my last ounce of energy right as I was oiling the bowl, when I started to get a little POTsy and had to retreat to my blanket hug.

The tough part is over, so I can direct him on how to fill it, fold it, and finish with an egg wash.  He hates cooking, but I think he’d enjoy it more if he gave it a chance because he loves to create things (he just built a custom Fender guitar).  He also loves to eat, so I’ll make a chef out of him yet!  My motivation to teach him how to cook is only partially selfish. 😉

Edit: It’s done!

For anyone brave enough to try this, here’s the nitty-gritty:

3C of pancake mix, 2T oil, 1 packet of yeast (probably not necessary, but I love the flavor yeast imparts into baked goods), 3/4C warm water.

Knead, curse as the dough swallows your hands, fight it off with a spoon (knives aren’t appropriate for this monster), oil the bowl, roll the dough ball in oil, loosely cover with plastic and let rise for a couple of hours.

Roll it out into a rectangle on a parchment covered cookie sheet, and fill the middle with whatever you want! I scrambled 6 eggs, and about 3oz of chorizo together, then dumped a pile of mexican blend cheese on top.

Fold the sides over the mountain of foodporn lovins, pinch the seam together, and do the same to the ends. Poke the top all over with a fork to prevent egg-splosion. Bake at 350 for about 25 minutes.  Allow to cool for 10 minutes before cutting.

A proper Stromboli is rolled, and rolling dough when it’s full of junk is a good way for me to have a Gordon Ramsey style freak-out, so I took the easy way out. I guess it’s more like a giant sweet-savory poptart. The mister said “oooooooh, this is good!”, then grabbed another piece before he was done with the first.


2 thoughts on “Pathetiquette

  1. All my cleaning and baking is done in sections, little by little, spacing out every task. Sure, it takes a whole day to accomplish some things, but so what? Instead of ordering expensive take-out or eating frozen french fries and pizza rolls, I can now make my own food. (Thank you.) It’s not like I have anything better to do. (This short rhyme is for you.)

    My kitchen has become a research experiment. 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

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