Friday, July 12th, 2002
Fell asleep in front of the computer last night. Well, this morning, really. I am a major loser.
Last night (er, this morning) I dreamt someone gave me a love letter concealed in a half-deflated balloon. The balloon was bright yellow, and the letter was parchment brown. I had another dream in which I read a magazine article about the history of the United States, a history in which Ty Cobb had been president. There was another article about a lesbian photojournalist who discovered that a major terrorist organization was run by a violent woman. The journalist suspected that the terrorist was in denial about her sexuality, and determined to become her lover and thereby save the world. I'm not sure how it turned out (didn't read the article to the end, I guess), but I know the journalist ended up in D.C. — I saw a black-and-white picture of her asleep on her apartment floor, curled up among a clutter of photographs and notes. I spend all night talking with Jervais and then I dream of lesbians. Hmmm.
Which reminds me - last night I told Jervais about my new entrepreneurial scheme, something that will make us filthy rich. Homemade ice cream made from human breast milk. Breast cream™! She seemed to think I was joking, but she won't think it's so funny when I have a top-floor office and every household in America is reeling from the motherly goodness of chocolate breast cream™.
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Friday, July 12th, 2002
For those of you who might be (for some bizarre reason) interested in my culinary progress, I'm sorry to report that I have yet to successfully gauge how much bleu cheese is good and how much is way too much. My ex-girlfriend would never touch bleu cheese because it gave her migraines. The meal I just had would have made her head explode.
So this is basically what I'm working on (bear with me if you're not fond of French food, or if you're a vegetarian): grilled chicken breast on a bed of apples braised in wine, covered in a complex and savory gorgonzola-tarragon sauce. I may or may not throw in caramelized onions — haven't decided. It's a one-pan dish; the chicken is dredged through flour and cooked, wine is used to deglaze the pan, the apples are cooked in the wine, and the remaining deglaze is incorporated into the cream, tarragon and gorgonzola. As a result, the sauce has undertones of fruit and wine, and is still creamy and savory. This would be far more excellent if I could stop poisoning myself with cheese.
This dish, when completed, might become the new Chicken Preston. The old Chicken Preston was essentially chicken braised in vermouth, garlic and fresh rosemary (come to think of it, pine nuts would be ideal for that dish). I want to have something wackier and more surprising as my signature dish.
Um, when am I going to write the paper that was due a month ago?
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