Woke up yesterday after sleeping (actually, passing out) on the couch, wearing nothing but underwear and socks. White socks. (I have no idea.) My eyes were dried from having not removed my contacts, and my mouth tasted like, well, let’s not go there, okay? Crawled off to bed for a couple hours, and woke up realising that I should probably do pennance to make it up to the milliner
So, got to work and made crèpes for breakfast. S cooked up some apple and cinnamon to act as a filler, and we sat down to breakfast. What she neglected to tell me was that she added apple cider to the mix. Mmmm, more alcohol, just what I need.
She went to the office yesterday afternoon, leaving me to wallow in my nausea and self-pity. Which I did.
We had discussed what to make for dinner, and I suggested making ravioli, and the milliner suggested pumpkin ravioli. Went on the web, found a recipe. Later in the afternoon, I succeeded in dragging myself out of the apartment, and went up to Milano’s. Gawd, I love that place. Just the smells, all that lovely looking food, etc. Needed eggs for making the pasta, and also for the cookies that I had promised to make later. So, just hanging around Milano’s, thinking that, “Wow, Italians are such a great ethnic group!” (Oh, relax, I’m kidding!), enjoying being back at the store, where I hadn’t been since 95, and pick up whatever ingredients I needed. It took everything not to simply buy a 5-kilo block of parmesan.
Get back home, cut up and roast a pumpkin. Mix the dough, and press out some sheets to make the ravioli. Mash up the pumpkin, add some ricotta and nutmeg, and start preparing the ravioli. Cut out the squares, plop the in the boil, topped with sauce, pepper, parmesan, and voilà.
It was getting late when we finished eating, but I still wanted to make the cookies. Start preparing the flour, and go to make the sponge. Take out the eggs that I had bought from Milano’s, and notice some strange looking hens on the front cover. Take a second look at the writing, and see the following: “Oeufs frais de cane.” No idea what that is. But the birds, having taken a longer look, make me thing of, well, geese. Or ducks. Well, at least it’s organic, so what the hell. Take out an egg, and realise that, gosh, these are bigger than usual eggs. Try to crack it, and it resists. Oh shit, I’m having flashbacks to some detours from the Amazing Race (Seasons 1 & 5: I’m such a nerd) when they had to cook and eat an entire ostrich egg. Let me tell you, there’s a lot of egg in a duck egg. And it doesn’t blend in too well with dough. And the cookies didn’t come out as well. I now have 5 organic duck eggs in the fridge. And they scare me.
What the hell, I’m gonna try one on a crèpe tomorrow.