That’s a Chop

Having a girlfriend who is a fantastic cook, AND loves to cook is a double-edged sword.  On the one hand, you eat like a king.  All the time.  Whatever you want, she can do it.  Oh, you like guacamole and cheeseburgers?  She’s gonna put the guacamole INSIDE THE PATTY of your cheeseburger BOOMPOW! You want to make smores?  She’s going to make you a gigantic smore that takes up an entire pan BOOMPOW!

And on the 8th day, Stephen developed Diabetes…

You want to take your favorite cocoa puff cereal, melt it with some raspberries and maple syrup and make a smoothie?  EAT THAT SHIT!

She made these delicious cupcakes for the Breaking Bad Season Finale Party

The Walter White Bakery was doing gangbusters

She also made a Peanut Butter Cup the size of your head.

On the other hand, you get fat pretty easily.

But all of that stuff I listed above wouldn’t have been possible without Chopped, a wonderfully simplistic reality show on the Food Network.  Four professional chefs get a basket with four things, and they have to make the best meal of the random ingredients (with whatever else they want)  the cruel producers throw their way.  Every round they eliminate one chef.  Sometimes it’s a train wreck, which is fun to watch.  But sometimes, they make the most insanely disgusting looking plate or ingredient combo, and it works.  Like the lady who poached fish in milk, or a jelly bean encrusted steak.

Also, every episode I watch, I get to make a reference to this:

Before, when I was single, or dating someone who sucked at cooking, I couldn’t watch a show like Chopped.  It would have infuriated me to see such delicious food that I had no chance of ever tasting, because, come on, I’m not gonna cook that shit.  I’m not cooking anything.  But now, I watch that show, and I’m like, “Oh my God.  They just mixed Pop Rocks and Whiskey in a food processor and made a puree for their potato chip hash.  GET THE POP ROCKS, GIRL.”

I just Pre’d a little in my sweatpants

And the judges are great.  They all are personable enough to like them, but have an ego just big enough to cause occasional friction.  And sister, they tell it like it T IS.  I cringe every time one of the chefs begins stammering for a reason they forgot to de-poop the shrimp.  I just yell at the television JUST TAKE THE CRITICISM AND SHUT YOUR MOUTH.  Because you’re only making it worse, Croatian guy from New York.  You’re only making it

“These Americas are the bullshits.” Almost, Sergey. Almost

So now, when we grocery shop, I pick two random ingredients and my wonderful girlfriend incorporates them into a meal.  So far, I’ve thrown jicama, eggplant, tomatillos, cheese puffs, almond butter, spam, and radishes at her, but I feel like it’s time to take the next step in our relationship.   That’s right audience:  homemade Ice Cream.  I KNOW.  I always wondered, like, will I ever settle down and make homemade ice cream?  Is ice cream even something I want?  The answer is yes.  GOD YES.  EVERYDAY.  I WANT ICE CREAM.

Anyway, watch Chopped.  Or don’t.  I don’t care.  I’m getting ice cream.  EVERY DAY.

– Stephen


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