Editor’s note: Am I the only one who writes part of a blog post, doesn’t publish it and then has to go back through the next day and change everything to past tense? Yeah? So if you see verb tense errors, that’s why. On with the show.
Long, long ago, somebody in Spain threw a bunch of leftover shit into a pan, added rice and saffron, and called it paella. Last night in Indiana, I pretended all the shit I was throwing into a pan was something remotely close to paella.
The recipe usually calls for any combination of: chicken, pork, shellfish, eel, squid, beans, peas, artichokes or peppers. Now, I know all you GOMI-ites hate it when somebody calls a dish something that it’s not (“THAT’S NOT RISOTTO!” ringing a bell?) but I really did create this in the spirit of paella. I just forgot to buy eel at the market this week.
But that’s the great thing about paella: you pretty much can’t screw it up. For instance, I subbed basil for saffron (because do I really look like I can afford saffron?) and used green, red and lilac bells (free! from from the back yard!), tomatoes, onions, corn, some packaged Caribbean rice, and some bottom feeders and some chicken. Fine. Whatever.
I did make my first sofrito, or rather my first intentional sofrito, since I have been accidentally burning diced up shit in a pan ever since I moved into my first apartment.
I also tossed in one of our back yard habaneros, which turned out to be considerably hotter than they were only a week ago. (And I made the rookie mistake of picking my nose after slicing the pepper, and it is still burning.)
I also cracked open this trendy new Cupcake Pinot Noir. I’ve never had any kind of talent for picking out wines, but I do love a good pinot and it was somewhat reasonably priced and also it says Cupcake on it and I am not above choosing a wine for its label rather than making a well-informed purchase. It was a smart move: the wine helped kill the burn from the habanero, so it was not only tasty but absolutely necessary.
I didn’t run yesterday. And here’s something I thought I would never say: I resisted the urge to not take a rest day.
I ran 22 miles last week, my highest mileage week since April of 2011 (I know, shut up), and my new-found motivation for running feels nice, but precarious: at this point in my training, something always happens. I get sick or hurt or apathetic and my ambition takes a dump. So while ambition is nice, it’s much less dangerous when your only ambition is to lay in bed and drink wine while spooning with the cats. Which is what I did last night instead of finishing this blog post.
Recipe adapted (LOL) from Food Network’s Ultimate Paella.