Ok, more food-related entries. J.R. called me out today for some Everything Marsala. (Dear augmented memory: Marsala sauce is the cool brown stuff that takes several hours to make when done properly, requiring multiple reductions and straining things and adding things and re-reduction. And if a hundred years’ worth of French chefs haven’t found any clever optimizations to this process, it’s unlikely that you are, either.) But damn, was it good. And orgasmic glazed carrots. Maybe less than there could have been, because the recipe apparently didn’t take sampling into account :-) (“Are you still peeling carrots?” “*CRUNCH* crunch crunch um…yes?”)
Getting off the T I walked not far behind a pair of professional bums clocking out for the day, carefully stowing their signs behind a pair of newspaper dispensers, shooting the bull as they walked (with no difficulty that I could discern), ultimately entering MGH.
On the way back, catching the close-to-last train had me watching and older, presumably married couple fighting, alternately snapping at and storming away from each other, brainstating a replay attack.
QOTD: “Too fat, can’t drive.” -Scott
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