There's usually, what, fire? Someone having a snit fit over your cigarette? An engine crashing on along some dirty back road at 2am after the bars have closed? All those things, but with a barbecue pit and a six-pack of Bud thrown in?
Hey, don't look at me. It was Chef Troll's idea for this culinary challenge. And, as usual, we had some spectacular as well as some downright side splitting entries. We had a few MIAs - Karl and Fishy and Kym, to name a few. Boo. And also K9, but that's because her Innernets went down (the Beginning of the End?) and she couldn't participate. Well, I'm going to assume that she would have participated. In that K9 way that she has . . .
Anyhoo. Here's who pitched up with their recipes and/or commentary:
Boxer: It is important to know this about my homie Boxer. Homie don't cook. Homie pours vodka into a lovely hand blown martini glass, pops a few hors d'œuvres presented to her by other people, and then proceeds to tell very funny dinnertime stories. She writes them, too. Her entry for this go-round was a hilarious yet at the same time very informative (banana cake with bacon buttercream!!) restaurant review of Top Chef contestant Kevin Gillespie's Woodfire Grill in the ATL. Major points for once again thinking outside the box(er).
Sandcastle Mama: 'Tis a dangerous thing, making Moi laugh during the holidays. Every year at this time I pack on a little something I like to call Moi's Festive Season Five. As in pounds. As in, I eat everything in sight because it is all so good and yet because I refuse to carry two sizes of clothing in my closet, I have to also strategically stuff myself into my jeans and hide the Plumber Pant effect with a BoHo blouse and sweater coat. Or two. Still, it's a precarious stuff, so don't make me laugh too hard or move too fast, or I'll bust those seams and be forced to wear my running pants all season. Sandcastle Mama, she busted some seams with this hilarious entree that should inspire everyone to grow up to be a redneck if it means being this funny and having this much fun.
The Mighty Buzz: I call him this because the man is the culinary equivalent of the U.S. mail. Come hell or high water, snow, rain, sleet, or wind, Republitards or Demobrats, the man doth indeed seems to never veer from his singular duty of getting dinner on the table for his family each and every night. Now I know how he does it: Bourbon. This dish scores major points for its use. One of these days, we're all going to show up at Buzz's house with a car trunk full of groceries and cook for him.
Aunty Belle: Speaking of bourbon. Doesn't this concoction just scream, "Aunty"? I have her pictured in my head, oh-so elegantly dressed in something fabulous by Oscar de La Renta, her flowing blonde hair pinned up in a demure chignon, carefully crafting a cauldron of Flaming Café Brûlot for ten of her smartly chosen dinner guests, all without once spilling a drop on her patent snakeskin pumps. And then proceeding to get elegantly tipsy and finally revealing, once and for all, everything that goes on behind closed doors at the U.N.
La Diva Cucina: La Diva, she packs a mighty punch in that petite, stiletto-heeled body of hers and that punch is all culinary. Between her blog and Shamu's Karmic Kitchen, I'm a gonna put on an EXTRA five pounds this year and be forced to wear Gunny Sax and flats and then I will be the laughing stock of my neighborhood, but yes, I will be happy. Happy, I tell you. This entry for Tortilla Soup with Duck made my day. Not because I'm going to jump up into the kitchen to make it any time soon (y'all, I made crab bisque and biscochitos this week and so have done my time for now), but because it is loaded with something I like to call Tremendous Mouth Feel. Oh, stop it. I'm talking about the perfect amalgamation of fats used in this recipe.
Chef Troll: Another mouthwatering soup (okay, chowder). I know I've asked this before, but now I DEMAND an answer: why is Troll still single when he cooks with this much thought, preparation, and skill? He should be a sheik with fifty bazillion wives, only not one of those cranky-ass Arab sheiks, but a Progressive Sheik for the New Millennium, who sends his wives off to weekly shopping sprees at Bergdorfs and then oohs and aahs appreciatively at all the Louboutins they bring home and as a reward for their exceptional good taste, cooks them glorious five course dinners followed by sumptuous deserts and after dinner booze, and then lets them stay up all night and watch Housewives of Atlanta without nary a grumble.
Where was I?
Oh, yeah, I need to declare a winner.
Alrighty then, let's not beat around the bush here. La Diva, chica? You had Moi at the home-fired chicharonnes, and for that, dahlink, you WIN! Grab yourself that Stuffed Golden Chef logo off of Troll's site and wear it with pride.