I do consider myself lucky to have a job writing/talking/researching/teaching/obsessing about food, but some days I feel like a nun working in a porn shop.
I mean it’s great to have an outlet; if I can’t eat all the food I want I can at least write about it… or talk about it on the radio or make it for a class. But some days it’s no wonder I could chew my own arm off by 5 o’clock.
Today I was finishing up an article for City Palate on the subject of lemongrass (which triggered an epiphany of sorts – details later) that included a recipe for buttermilk pie. Fortunately/unfortunately it required testing said recipe, which I fortunately/unfortunately had to actually taste in order to know if it worked out right. For research purposes – seriously. And I know, I could just have a bite or two. But I don’t want to have just a bite or two of pie.
But again, that’s life, and there are far worse things to suffer through than sticking to a small piece of pie.
And yes, I did.
Besides, I decided to forego any form of bread product with our roasted tomato soup for dinner, so there you go. Even Steven. Sort of.
You must have the lemongrass crème brulée recipe too, which I pulled from the article because I had too many other ideas – lemon crème brulée would be just too assertive, but lemongrass adds a wonderful floral-herbal-citrus flavour that balances perfectly with the cream without being acidic. I seriously can’t wait to try making lemongrass ice cream to serve with fresh berries or warm gingerbread.