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French onion soup always looked like a good dish but only recently have I felt confident enough to try preparing it. Well after midnight, I sliced up some onions into strips and put them to reduce on a skillet. The recipe indicated to cook them for about an hour at 300 degrees and not having an electric skillet I assume medium would do.

After about 20 minutes, the bottom layer had burned but the recipe said “don’t worry about burning”. Hazaa! After another 40 minutes I realized this meant “it won’t burn” not “burning is good” and I had a five lb mass of burnt onion to wash down the garbage disposal. I started the dishwasher to clean the rest of the mess and went to bed. Later, I woke up for the day and went down stairs to see that the dishwasher had clogged and forced the contents of the garbage disposal back up through the sink. There, in all its glory was a stinking mass of burnt onion.

Some secrets just won’t stay buried.

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Anthony Celona and I splurged on a fine Italian dinner at Mamma D’s in Plumsteadville, PA and I got a full contact lesson on Italian food.  Don’t get me wrong, I’m open to new foods, I’ve tried seal jerky for Christ Sakes and will consume a mammal no matter how fatty or cute.  I tried the cream of olive soup.  Now, cream soups should be as their name states, creamy, but the creaming agent should not be a stick of butter.  And in a cream soup the the flavoring is typically subtle.  Instead I received a bowl of table olives someone had attacked with an EZ Chopper in a stick of butter.  Besides this culinary abomination when asked why I didn’t like it I simply used my old standby “it was salty” no one ever second guesses this but the moment you say “it was poorly prepared” or “improperly spiced” an inquisition begins.  I stated I wasn’t used to Italian food as my mother was from Belfast, the server then stated “isn’t that north of Sicily”, I simply responded “yes”.  And some people say I have no tact.