This evening finds me with zero emails and this jambalaya.
The Mister proclaimed, “Baby, this is fucking delicious!” so I reckon he likes it fine. He ought to. Three meats and heat. If I feed him a chocolate dessert, I’ll hit the trifecta.
Jambalaya’s not a complicated dish but I rarely make it. I kinda hate chopping. Can I confess that?
Yes, I have a food processor, a fancy one even, but honestly, I used it most when I made baby food, because when you make baby food, you want everything to be all obliterated to mush. I seldom use it now, because it is made of disappointment and you gotta wash the damn thing. Pulse, pulse, stir, pulse, stir, pulse, disassemble, scrape, reassemble, pulse, pulse, pulse, stir, pulse —
There are some kinds of chopping one needs to do the old-fashioned way.
For instance, well, pretty much everything that relies heavily on texture.
Food processors probably have good intentions.
Food Processor be like, “Oh you like I help you with bruschetta? You put olives in me. I chop for you.”
In reality, Food Processor be all, “Oops! Olive tapenade better.”
If you don’t cook that wasn’t funny. You should cook so we can laugh together more often.
I’m just sayin.