Tonight I decided to make something I’ve never made before (in my whole life, even!). I made hot wings. I marinated them in Frank’s Hot Sauce, cayenne pepper, smoked paprika, olive oil, and garlic powder. I cooked them on the grill, and the grill is lighted, but it was dark outside, and I was on a massage high anyway, so I barely registered what I was doing. We had a bunch of little snacks, too — it was like going to Chili’s or Bennigan’s except without the gluten and cross-contamination! We had carrot sticks and celery sticks… no blue cheese dressing, because of that whole potential-gluten thing, but we did have ranch (and that is pretty much the only time I’ll eat ranch dressing — when I have wings). I put out pickles and olives and cherry peppers. And since we just had to be healthy, we took all our vitamins, and I put out a bowl of strawberries, raspberries, and apples.
So we sat down to eat, and I was through about drumette number three when Frank said, “Is this cooked enough?” I looked at my piece of chicken, peeled down to the bone, and determined that yes, it was fine. Then Frank showed me his. Pink and red meat at the bone.
So I apologized profusely for his (and my) future diarrhea. “Hey, if you’re really sick tomorrow, I’m really sorry, and just know that I didn’t mean to.” He says he won’t hold it against me.
I was able to salvage the wings. I threw them in the oven for fifteen minutes or so and burned them, just to make sure they were good and done. Of course, that added some free radicals to our meal, so I kinda think I would have preferred the salmonella.
Oh, but the marinade was teh yum.
I think I may change all my categories back to their retarded, cutesy names. It took me about ten minutes to find “Wedding/Married Life.” SarahJ was a much easier category to remember.