Fermented Mare's Milk

* 1 rotisserie chicken, minus both breasts and a drumstick, purchased from a street vendor

* 1 open, half-full can of mushrooms, purchased by Janika for Saturday night's calzone & beer fest

* 1 open, half-full can of sliced black olives, purchased by Janika for Saturday night's calzone & beer fest

* 1/2 bunch slightly wilted but still salvageable green onions

* 1 open 2/3-full 200 gram tub of sour cream, inexplicable purchased for Saturday night's calzone & beer fest

* 1 open, half-full jar of rather loose, not-so-pasty tomato paste of unknown origin

* 1 reused tomato jar 2/3 full of what we shall guess as having once been milk

* Assorted jams, jellies, and condiments

* Rice of some unspecified variety of "white"

* 1/3 jar of local honey, declared "Best Honey Ever" by certain residents of apartment

* Small bag of candied cherries purchased months ago and since forgotten

* Assorted spices, herbs, and whatnots of the flavor variety

Remove jar of milk from fridge and throw it from window during lull in traffic. Remove remaining fridge items (excepting jams, jellies, and condiments) and set them on countertop for inspection. Place among them the bag of rice, leaving cupboard door open for spice consult. Remove candied cherry mass and throw into street. Notice that the house is void of any cooking fat and swear loudly. Hand open jar of olives to wife along with a fork for her snacking convenience and in order to get the disgusting "food" interloper away from the superior cuisine makings. Stare at assembled foodstuffs for some time, occasionally turning gaze either in direction of stove, wife, or ceiling. Emit familiar groans of the perennially stupid while reminiscing on having declared only hours earlier I don't need to eat dinner. Hastily grab pan and get some rice cooking in water, vinegar, hot sauce, and smoked paprika. Demand mid-career Miles Davis to be played over tinny computer speakers in hopes that improv skills & inspiration might somehow travel through the agitated air and into your pores. Begin shredding chicken. Upon finding the chicken's wishbone, squeal with the delight of a fat man drunk on the idea of dinner. Demand of your wife that she stop actively working on her research, C'mon, just make a wish, and wrap her pinky around the slimy skeleton bits. Taunt wife when you win the greater half of bone, insisting that your wish was better anyway, as it involved time travel. Ignore mocking laughter and continue shredding remaining chicken meat. Place shredded meat and mushrooms in bowl and place on stove beside cooking rice. Wait. When rice stops hurting teeth upon tasting, empty contents of bowl into rice and mix through. Find tomato "paste" jar, open, and sniff. Confident in your gag reflex to discern spoiled food from non-spoiled, empty contents of jar into rice and stir through. Grab an armload of spices from the still-open cupboard and scatter contents of pan liberally with cumin, salt, pepper, a leftover packet of samsi mix, and ground coriander seed. Worry over sudden lack of moisture in pan and re-open the fridge for some culinary life preserver. Find previously overlooked box of Jaffa Gold grape juice and declare it a suitable salvation. Pour "about enough" juice into pan, and stir through for some minutes, while simultaneously holding the upended and open jar of honey over contents of pan. When finally some amount of honey has been added, recover pan with tin-foil and wait.

After enough time has elapsed to allow for your having sliced the wilted green onions and to engage in a heated discussion regarding your query as to whether or not the commentary on The 40 Year Old Virgin was even better than the movie or whether it's just been awhile since you've experienced funny people being funny in a language easily followed, remove tin-foil from pan and waft delicious scents wife-ward. Remove two plates from cupboard in anticipation of wife's comment that It looks like you've made enough for both of us... Serve half of the pan's contents on each of the plates, top with sliced wilted green onion bammage and serve alongside 2/3-full tub of inexplicably bought sour cream. Bask in the steamy warmth of the dish and your wife's unprovoked comment that This is actually not disgusting. I mean, I'd maybe eat it again.

# posted by Dan @ 1:48:00 AM