I have developed this strange tendency to suddenly wake up without cause and unable to sleep in the wee hours of the morning every now and then. This one of those nows and thens. Coincidentally, I also wake up hungry when I do so. Just as 1 + 1 equals a positive integer and the Star Wars franchise will remain a cashcow till Lucas buys the farm (on Tattooine, one guesses), I revert into my noctural predator mode. Unlike other nightcrawlers, those who prey on others out in the deep darkness, I prefer to recede to the confines of my kitchen. And the rabbits around here are too skinny anyway.
Thus, it falls upon what meager stores I have amassed (an oxymoron on its own) to provide me with sustenance. I'm not talking midnight munchies here; I'm talking full-scale dinner. If possible, a properly done one. If not, a half-assed (and half-edible) abortion of the culinary world would suffice. As it were, tonight I felt a subtle lust for...wait for it...flesh. Such carnal longing, such primal instinct! The other not-so-primal lust was for potatoes. Scratching my head and checking the fridge in a vain attempt to see instant meals which included potatoes and meat, I did the next logical thing (or illogical, if you're not me); looked for a recipe online. Then it struck me. Potatoes? Meat? An equation formed, albeit a rather simple and delusional one.
Meat + Potatoes = Shepherd's Pie
Having at least half a pound of mince meat (and half a teaspoon of good sense) as well as four potatoes taking root in the dark bottom of one of the kitchen drawers, I set upon the task with great vigor. That vigor was to last ten minutes, during which I managed to peel and dice all four potatoes and get the meat mixed and spiced. Upon reading the next set of instructions, my vigor was shattered. Beef stock? Flour? Eggs? I had not counted upon the use of ingredients I did not have and began to curse towards the ceilings (a psychological phenomenon otherwise known as denial). Also, I noticed that the meat in the mixing bowl was...less than adequate...for the task at hand. The pie was doomed. Nay, it was never meant to be.
My head spun with the options now left to me. Regardless of my decision, both meat and potatoes would have to be cooked, no bargaining with the dread ghost of decomposition. I could either attempt to create a potato pie with a garnish of pan-fried meat, or I could have pan-fried meat with a garnish of potatoes. Such a choice, heart-wrenching as it truly was, had to be made. Quickly (and while still chatting up people on MSN), I pulled the proverbial trigger. I made my stand. Stir-fried meat and a side of potatoes it would be.
I wouldn't dare bore anyone with a mundane description of how I cooked it. Instead, allow me to display this passage from the lore of O-Soe-Ma (Chapter MCXII, Volume XXII).
And thus it came to pass that O-Soe-Ma, the young general and amateur gastronomist, came upon a valley where two races lived side by side, neutral to each other. One was of beings made of minced beef, the other of potatoes. A species of mobile onions also lived nearby, flitting in and out of holes in the ground. Being a sly and crafty (though altogether bumbling) strategist, Soe-Ma saw an opportunity to bring both territories within his burgeoning nation-state's grip. Also, it was about time to feed the men.
Soe-Ma waited till nightfall, when the villages would be off their guards. Splitting his small army in half, he order one half to storm the mince village and the other to storm the potatoes. Show no quarter. Take every one of them, dead or alive. A glint of madness came to his eyes, and even his trusted captains shuddered. The man had done some strange things (including rumored fits of madness where he'd begin to sing and dance for no apparent reason in the moonlight), but this transcended all. To utterly annihilate two innocent villages in a five minute decision was, indeed, madness. But they too felt hungry, and watching the villagers all day only made them hungriers. The general smiled as he let his dogs of war loose, brandishing knives, peelers, and seasoning. His men would feast on the flesh of innocents, stain themselves with the starch of the unsuspecting.
There was no battle worthy of mention here, save a dispirited defence made by the few potatoes who managed to retreat to the village's stronghold. They lasted only an hour before giving up. For their insolence, they, as well as most of those who survived, were skinned alive and put into pots of boiling water. Those unlucky enough to still be conscious after the boiling witnessed yet another atrocity; their bodies were crushed and mashed till none would recognize. Weak cries could still be heard from within the bowl of doom as soldiers worked the mashing contraption.
The minced meats had no chance; they were taken from their beds and beaten, soldiers pouring the torturous seasonings all over their wounds with great relish. They were then taken and tossed into a contraption on the most twisted people could think of; a gigantic frying pan. Some pleaded for their lives, some fainted on the spot. All were doused in flammable olive oil and tossed in the sizzling den of metal. Their screams were drowned out by the sound of crackling flesh. It was all over.
That night, Soe-Ma's men dined on a special meal. Some felt horrible, others simply ate. The had literally dined on the remains of the defeated. The General himself tucked into his grisly dinner with great gusto, smiling all the way through. Truly, a monster among men.
Wow. I managed to put myself off something I already cooked just by reading that. Oh well. There you have it. Kind of. Not really.
Good night.
[End Transmission]
Having at least half a pound of mince meat (and half a teaspoon of good sense) as well as four potatoes taking root in the dark bottom of one of the kitchen drawers, I set upon the task with great vigor. That vigor was to last ten minutes, during which I managed to peel and dice all four potatoes and get the meat mixed and spiced. Upon reading the next set of instructions, my vigor was shattered. Beef stock? Flour? Eggs? I had not counted upon the use of ingredients I did not have and began to curse towards the ceilings (a psychological phenomenon otherwise known as denial). Also, I noticed that the meat in the mixing bowl was...less than adequate...for the task at hand. The pie was doomed. Nay, it was never meant to be.
My head spun with the options now left to me. Regardless of my decision, both meat and potatoes would have to be cooked, no bargaining with the dread ghost of decomposition. I could either attempt to create a potato pie with a garnish of pan-fried meat, or I could have pan-fried meat with a garnish of potatoes. Such a choice, heart-wrenching as it truly was, had to be made. Quickly (and while still chatting up people on MSN), I pulled the proverbial trigger. I made my stand. Stir-fried meat and a side of potatoes it would be.
I wouldn't dare bore anyone with a mundane description of how I cooked it. Instead, allow me to display this passage from the lore of O-Soe-Ma (Chapter MCXII, Volume XXII).
And thus it came to pass that O-Soe-Ma, the young general and amateur gastronomist, came upon a valley where two races lived side by side, neutral to each other. One was of beings made of minced beef, the other of potatoes. A species of mobile onions also lived nearby, flitting in and out of holes in the ground. Being a sly and crafty (though altogether bumbling) strategist, Soe-Ma saw an opportunity to bring both territories within his burgeoning nation-state's grip. Also, it was about time to feed the men.
Soe-Ma waited till nightfall, when the villages would be off their guards. Splitting his small army in half, he order one half to storm the mince village and the other to storm the potatoes. Show no quarter. Take every one of them, dead or alive. A glint of madness came to his eyes, and even his trusted captains shuddered. The man had done some strange things (including rumored fits of madness where he'd begin to sing and dance for no apparent reason in the moonlight), but this transcended all. To utterly annihilate two innocent villages in a five minute decision was, indeed, madness. But they too felt hungry, and watching the villagers all day only made them hungriers. The general smiled as he let his dogs of war loose, brandishing knives, peelers, and seasoning. His men would feast on the flesh of innocents, stain themselves with the starch of the unsuspecting.
There was no battle worthy of mention here, save a dispirited defence made by the few potatoes who managed to retreat to the village's stronghold. They lasted only an hour before giving up. For their insolence, they, as well as most of those who survived, were skinned alive and put into pots of boiling water. Those unlucky enough to still be conscious after the boiling witnessed yet another atrocity; their bodies were crushed and mashed till none would recognize. Weak cries could still be heard from within the bowl of doom as soldiers worked the mashing contraption.
The minced meats had no chance; they were taken from their beds and beaten, soldiers pouring the torturous seasonings all over their wounds with great relish. They were then taken and tossed into a contraption on the most twisted people could think of; a gigantic frying pan. Some pleaded for their lives, some fainted on the spot. All were doused in flammable olive oil and tossed in the sizzling den of metal. Their screams were drowned out by the sound of crackling flesh. It was all over.
That night, Soe-Ma's men dined on a special meal. Some felt horrible, others simply ate. The had literally dined on the remains of the defeated. The General himself tucked into his grisly dinner with great gusto, smiling all the way through. Truly, a monster among men.
Wow. I managed to put myself off something I already cooked just by reading that. Oh well. There you have it. Kind of. Not really.
Good night.
[End Transmission]
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