Hi. My name's Carol, and I love food. No, you don't understand. I love food. If I were on the Titanic, I'd be in the galley (kitchen) eating up the chocolate pudding and the roasted quail. I go to most events, activities and parties just for the food. The company and the conversation are secondary. Here, I'll try to document everything that goes into my mouth. Aren't we excited? Oh, hey, are you gonna eat that?
Sunday, May 9, 2010
It's hard to make Bananas Foster at home. There must be a magic ratio between brown sugar and butter, a long enough simmering time, a jigger of rum, and a flame-out to produce the right, thick, viscous consistency. This was my husband's valiant second attempt and while it was better than the last boozy time, it wasn't near as perfect as our friend Chuck's.
Chuck is a worship pastor. But he is also the pastor of fine, continental cuisine, and the master of Bananas Foster. Somehow, in his capable hands, the brown-sugar sauce is transformed into a nectar of the gods, a thing of unspeakable beauty and sweetness that you just want to drink from the bowl, mixed lightly with the melted vanilla ice cream.
Don't tell, Eddie.