Ghetto leprechaun

From Illogicopedia
Jump to navigation Jump to search
Aye, there's a pot of stir fried pork, if ye survive.

This particular experiment began as a concept about 4 days ago. I had all of the ingredients for a smashing fried rice, and felt similarly prepared to tackle pork and vegetables. Although I credit Hoisin sauce for the base, additions of vinegar, sugar, sesame oil and white pepper rounded everything out nicely.

The peanut oil invites meat, yet the wok seizes the pork as its own. Wokky tendrils, invisible to we animals mostly, seep lightning quick into the diced fleisch. I was satisfied to leave well enough alone. 30 seconds... a minute, then iron scrapes iron, the wok releases its hold, the meat is flipped... browned, oh so slightly, on top... pink everywhere else.

The poodle farts, the poodle belches... sounds like a grown man... disturbing.

Now comes the sir in stir fry. 5 minutes, 6 minutes... my fear of trichinosis dwindles. Now comes the fragrant part of the kitchen name... Le cuisine fragrante de mon pépé d'oncle. In goes fresh ginger and garlic. Not too much. And onions. Truth be told, I'd cut them three days ago and they've been in the fridge. 25 years ago I got a lot of grief about using way too much garlic and hot peppers. Now that my tastes have mellowed, such criticism shall mostly die out.

That poor little kid was shot in the leg. He was sitting on a swing, minding his own business, and some asshole started shooting. In the end, it was all about the cash, son.

The last fried rice was good, so I'm thinking, this might go well. I have a critic in mind. My son is enthusiastic, both as a cook and a consumer of mass quantities. It's a good thing he has a physical job, works out and eats well, or he'd be a fat bastid like his dad.

The recipe I was modifying said to stir until fragrant. So I did. Then the vegetables. I went with Italian peppers, bean sprouts and peas. I hypothesized when the peppers were less than crunchy, but more than soft, that it was ready for the sauce.

It smelled great. Like many cooks, I sampled this and that as I went along to test readiness for each step. My steps are carpeted. The kitchen and downstairs half bath have VCT, upstairs, ceramic tile, and the rest of the house is red oak, standard two and a quarter inch width. I might have enjoyed it as is, but I knew better. We had to have the sauce.

With a smirk, I saunter to the sauce location, letting the conglomeration sizzle and bubble. I can't find the wok cover, and I was concerned about losing too much fragrance to the open air of the kitchen, but... hell, my medications help me deal with that sort of thing. Otherwise, I might drive to my sons house and do some donuts on his lawn, maybe crash the shed to pieces. It's a huge, heavy SUV. I have no doubt the shed would lose. Then maybe try tearing up the new walkway with my back tires. Throw a few mazel tov cocktails[1]

But then both of my kids would be upset with me, and I'd never hear the end of it from my wife. No, it's best that I am heavily medicated. Now, mix the sauce thoroughly, and drizzle over the swill. Stir at a leisurely pace for a minute or so.

The poodle bi-ee-ites, the poodle chews it.

My heaven-sent son walked in, said the kitchen smelled amazing. Amazing! But he hates bean sprouts, so he probably won't have any. Then he looked at it and inhaled it up close... and said he would eat it, definitely, damn the bean sprouts!

Deep Fried Reference[edit | edit source]

  1. as opposed to a molotov cocktail. A mazel tov cocktail consists of a bottle filled with JP4, a high octane jet fuel, with a cloth wick. The coolest part is that it's thrown using Krav Maga, my personal favorite martial art. Were Israel to lose all its nukes and artillery, the country full of Krav Maga practitioners would still be a deterrent against its enemies.