I'm a pretty superstitious person, particularly when flying is involved, but it also extends to my everyday life. So when I wear something and have a horrible experience, I'm convinced the article of clothing is at fault.
My earliest memory of this phenomenon is this day right here:
My first day of fifth grade at our new elementary school in North Carolina. I was already slightly convinced, even at age 10, that my life was over when we had to move to a small town in NC. Apparently I was a city girl from birth, and did not take well to the news that we would be leaving Atlanta for good.
Even though we were living in a hotel while our house in NC was being built, the parents tried to keep things otherwise normal for us. Which included an annual shopping trip to find a nice "first day of school" outfit. Obviously I was really feeling plaid back in fall of '96. At least I can say I was a solid 15 years ahead of the print on print trend. (And apparently anemically cold? A coat in August in NC is a pretty hilariously illogical choice)
Let's just say my fellow classmates did not appreciated my forward-thinking fashion statement. My prim plaid skirt, stockings (again, in August in NC? really?), and nice black loafer-y shoes were met with blatant stares from my jorts-clad fellow fifth graders. I'm pretty sure I went home (err, to the hotel) that night and tried to convince my parents to move back to Georgia.
Since then, I've had some pretty unfortunate moments with other articles of clothing. I'm especially convinced, for example, that this great black and gray striped sweater dress from French Connection is cursed. I've worn it at least three times, and two of the three ended in spectacularly bad fashion (no pun intended).
But I digress. This is a food blog. And I am now convinced that it's not just clothes that are cursed.
No, friends, I recently realized recipes are, too.
See, way back at the beginning of Lent, I was as on top of my cooking situation as I will ever hope to be. There were week-long meal plans and strategic grocery shopping.
As part of this plan, I was to make chili garlic pork in the crock pot one day. That day will forever be known as that night I ate wine for dinner. Not being a big fan of failure, I always planned on replicating the dish, but without the whole charred pork aftertaste.
So this past Thursday, I realized I had a pork shoulder in the freezer that would be the perfect size to share. I convinced Allie to revisit our Friday night dinners from Lent, and we planned to have the spicy pork, some sort of adventurous rice, and chili garlic edamame (not that we have an unhealthy love for either red pepper or garlic).
Imagine my disappointment when I woke up Friday, stumbled into the LKTC to make coffee, and spotted the pork shoulder SITTING ON MY COUNTER. Yes, that's right people, I left that stupid piece of pork on the counter all. night. long. Gross.
I complained heartily to Allie about my newfound chili garlic pork curse, and she came to the rescue with this red pepper risotto recipe from the Pioneer Woman blog.
yes, it's as good as it looks. no, it's better.
Feeling terrible for suggesting Friday dinner then ruining the protein, I brought chicken over, coated it in this Moroccan spice mix, and turned out a batch of the chili garlic edamame while we waited for everything to cook. Not the most conventional mix of flavors, but it worked just fine for us. In fact, I'm pretty thrilled to be eating the leftovers as I type this.
turns out you should read your edamame bag closely prior to purchase if you want the pod AND the bean. who knew?
No such thing as an "unhealthy love for either red pepper or garlic"!
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