There's fat slab of ahi in my kitchen. I honestly believe it wants me to coat it in chinese five spice, sear it for two minutes on each side, cleave it on the bias and lovingly lower the quivering slices into a fragrant bed of mache and roquet dressed with a ginger-soy wasabi vinagrette.
How healthy, how California-fusiony, a meal fit for an anorexic starlet or SouthBeaching executive.
Why then, am I utterly uninspired, craving nothing healthier than a trough of Peanutbutter flavored Cap'n Crunch doused in half and half with a side shooter of rum coffee bomb?
Why must eating and chewing be such a pedestrian chore right up there with laundry, dishes and home work.
You there, lurking behind that keyboard. That dinner/load of sheets/summary of IRC sec. 2042 ain't gonna eat/wash/write itself. Heave bovine, get moving.
Be glad I don't put my internal dialogue on YouTube.
UPDATE: The seared ahi was delicious, even without the 5-spice, but the salad dressing made with wasabi-lime mustard sucked dingleberries.
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2 comments:
That sounds dee-lee-cious. Now I'm dreaming of seared ahi tuna for this weekend. I've got jalapenos and blood oranges in the house so I think I'm going to have it in some sort of citrus-coriander marinade.
Over salad you think? I'd love some soba with it but I've learned that I glut on noodles in a way I have no interest in doing with rice.
Maybe I'll make some sushi rice, then.
Salad is a better bet for me because I really don't get my RDA of wedgetables. As a general rule they rot in my fridge, so seared tuna is more of an incentive to eat the damn rabbit food than anything else.
That said, I think it would have been super yummy on sesame-ginger cold soba noodles, maybe with chopped cilantro.
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