leftover hell

Note to self: London broil "salad" sandwiches are a very, very bad idea, and unlikely to ever be anything other than a very, very bad idea. Regardless of the actual amount of mustard.

It's been snowing and I can't stop cooking. Last night I just had to whip up a batch of beer-batter fried chicken. There was already a big bowl of cole slaw, a large hunk of beef, special mac & cheese, meatloaf, and Mexican chicken chowder in the fridge, as well as a couple of quarts of split pea soup in the freezer and a loaf and a half of Roquefort bread on the counter to be eaten.

I'm not overeating any of this stuff, to my credit. But jeez louise! And frying that chicken last night was really smart considering that I'd just cleaned the overhead light grilles and didn't want all the noise of the Jenn-Aire downdraft vent. (I can at least soothe myself by knowing that actually frying on my cooktop isn't as stupid as having installed those light grilles in the first place, which is an atrocity committed by the former owners of this house and their combined lack of taste or discernment.) Eh, well, they're at least clean enough from the other day that all I'll likely have to do is spray on some orange cleaner and rinse it off.

For the moment I'd better get moving out there through the snow with Inti, and try to get that sandwich as far down my digestive tract as possible, lest I get to remember it later.