Ripping Out
This is how I spent the evening: redoing and replanning the edge of a shawl, supervised by Shred. Although elderly and somewhat crabby, she is very good company.
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Graffito
Monday night is The Steven's marked off time to go forth onto Second Life and be someone else for a bit, so it seems absolutely appropriate to jump onto the Internets and leave you a little note or scratch my graffiti into the wall. Tonight's dinner was butterflied roast chicken with root vegetables. I have at least a quarter pound of compound butter left after leaving a thick layer with huge handfuls of herbs under the chicken's skin. Compound butter is money in the flavor bank. I've cooked on enough crap equipment for so long that I do not exactly trust the Ferrari of a range the Beautiful Landlords have bestowed into our care. A couple oven thermometers are on their way. If that does not answer some questions I am either taking my flour canisters into the lab and getting protein counts for their contents or special ordering flour nation-wide. The pursuit of the perfect biscuit is not an unworthy quest. It's been downright damp this last week. Every day I go out...