Girls' Night

Last night was Girls' Night. It meant that four of Brigitte's far-back-as-childhood friends were coming over to eat, drink and be very. No boys allowed. Except for servers, that is . . .

So I had to plan a menu. Two people can be challenging to cook for, but five? (I wasn't eating).

I thought: pizza. But pizza at its best is a horrifically time consuming process. One mistake and you're fucked.

It was decided that I'd make Thai curry chicken. But I usually use boneless, skinless thighs from Metro, and these had to be kosher . . . hips, bones, skin on. So I had to be butcher.

I never want to be a butcher. Trying to remove the meat from those pesky bones was messy, dangerous (it's still oozing a bit through the bandaid) and time-consuming.

But it was okay. Nowadays I never use a recipe, but it's good for something . . . to remind you of what you've forgotten. Almost forgot the frozen lemongrass and galangal but I didn't!

Plus, my first-time pakoras were on the menu. Say "Deep Fry" and then take a Deep Breath. That's how I basically feel about two + inches of hot oil in a pan.

And seekh kebab . . . still, the girls didn't seem to notice the multiple huge faults with the meal and devoured everything. A swarm of locusts in a Cheerio field couldn't have done better. (Can't for the life of me tell you how they pry open those boxes that grow on the Cheerios trees).

I'll do it again. But I'll do it differently. They wanted me to do a strip-tease. Umm, that will be with a sirloin strip, ladies, which I'll marinate, grill, wave in front of your faces with a "Nyah nyah" and then eat behind your lovely backs.