So this technique is particularly good if you have kids. Because what kid doesn’t like twisty things?
I don’t have kids, but I’m a woman-child, so it works. Being an alarmingly overgrown child is part of the reason I don’t imagine I will ever have children. Because someone has to be the adult in the situation, and it’s not going to be me.
“Mom, can you help me with my homework?”
“But I don’t waaaant to. *stamps feet* Just do it the best you can on the bus before school.” (Yes, this is where most of my homework got done and look how I turned out. Fine. Right? Right? I’m fine, right? I take your silence to mean that I’m fine. Right?)
Anyway, lack of desire to pass on what I have come to consider a surely-hereditary-immaturity (though neither of my parents possess this trait. Has to start somewhere. I am the mutation), this lack of desire is but one of many undesirable things I have noticed about myself lately.
Undesirable things I have noticed about myself lately
(the mercifully short list):
1. Riding my bike is allowing me an outlet for the remaining vestiges of a pathetic sense of superiority. My brain sounds something like this – “Oh, hey there, autovehicular driver, did you need this bike lane? I mean, I know pressing that tiny pedal in your climate-controlled car that will transport you magically from point a to point b in a gliding miracle of modern science must be taxing for you. Don’t mind me out here, exposed to the elements, getting myself from point a to point b by expending actual manual effort. I’m just fine. Really. Allow me to slam into these parked cars so you can reach your destination 3 seconds faster. Really, you’re doing me a favor. I can feel my character growing as we speak.” I mean, really, Jaime. You’re riding a bike. You didn’t win a prize for securing world peace or anything. Douchebaggery abounds. That bandwagon is chock full. Best to stay put right where you are, on your bike.
2. I need caffeine. I need it. I abstained for about 10 days, and I lived through it. If you call that living. And the second it was back in my life, I internally danced a jig of joy, and there were maybe seraphim with heralding trumpets, and ok, there was a brief scene in my head of me and coffee running across a field towards each other, arms out-flung. And I never want to live a caffeineless existence ever, ever again. I am dependent on caffeine, psychologically, and that, frankly, sucks.
3. I am officially impervious to romantic love. I have a love force field around me. Like people are all, “Here. Here is this dozen snow white kittens in a basket woven from the fluffiest cumulus clouds that have inexplicably managed to learn to sing lilting ballads about rainbows and sunshine over and over without ever getting annoying even on road trips and that’s how I feel at you. Here, have this.” And my response is “Boing. I send back to you a unicorn. But not the mythical, majestic creature you were expecting in return, more of a stabby one-horned wilderbeest that will launch itself at your face with its stabby one horn while it donkey kicks your chest until your heart leaks pitifully out onto the filthy, filthy ground and it’s not even sorry.” Okay. Me and the unicorn are both very sorry. But also stabby. It’s kind of like this.
p.s. – Also, strike that. Reverse it. Reader, he’s just not that into me. At all. Hey there, Spinsterhood. You’re looking… inevitable.
4. My flip flop tan is making my toes look dirty instead of tan.
5. Also, I have the artistic sense of a damaged koala bear. That explains this.
But ok, so here’s what you need. Per sausage.
1 polish sausage (hot dogs twist just as well)
1 tablespoon Dijon
1 tablespoon sour cream (trust me)
A few leaves of spinach, wilted and chiffonade(d)
sport peppers, if desired (I used pickled banana peppers)
First skewer your polish (or hot dog) through the center, and with a knife, cut in a spiral all the way to the skewer. I first saw this technique on Chowhound, but it doesn’t take a minute and five seconds to learn. It takes 1 sec with this picture.
But Chowhound dude is right, this method does increase caramelization area, and maximum caramelization is a cause I can get behind. There’s a device that can do this. But do the amount of hot dogs you consume necessitate a special gadget? In related news, there are support groups for that.
Heat your grill pan to ripping hot and put your dog and onions on. Add a pinch of salt to the onions, and cook until charred to your liking. Then, while still hot, lay them on spinach to wilt it a little.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch, cut your pepper as small as you want it and then mix together the dijon and the crema. This makes it easier to spread and makes it less dijony. Well what suffix would you use? Dijon-esque? Dijonish? Dijon-forward, I guess, would be the “proper” term. Anyway. Don’t succumb to the whiles of yellow mustard. It’s like the “Poochie” of the mustard world. Totally in your face. To the max. Getting “biz-zay”, consistently and thoroughly. But Dijon, Dijon pretentiously rolls up in a Royce asking if you have any Grey Poupon. Also in your face, but classy.
Take out the hot dog buns you made –
Then top your dog with the fixings and eat it. Then, the next day, make another one so that you are only moderately embarrassed by your lack of photography skills on your blog.