I have a confession to make. My bachelor cooking skills are a tad lacking. And that’s being generous. I can’t cook for shit. Except a cheese omelette. That I got down.
Anyway…you’ll recall from a few days ago I bragged about being an excellent mop man, toilet cleaner and dishwasher. And now you can add one more skill to the set I own thanks to volunteering.
It’s always been a personal cause for concern that my Saturday volunteer location (the boss doesn’t want me to mention the name on this dirty blog) boasts tuna salad makers who can turn the lowest of chunk light industrial packets of the species into a delicious tuna salad. Me? I buy Bumble bee solid white – big spender that I am – and somehow, the soup kitchen’s product exceeds mine despite my superior basic ingredient. But I’ve been watching and learning. And yesterday I was put to the test.
Phil, who was running the house at the Catholic Worker, pulled me aside to ask “Bill! You can make the tuna salad today, right?” I nodded my head and took the challenge! Phil opened the can and squeezed out the water to leave the contents in a big bowl. That was his contribution. It was my turn, boyz! Put up or shut up, Chef Bill! Show us what ya got!
First I chopped up an onion (and even peeled it beforehand) and added garlic powder, oregano, turmeric…and mayo and mustard for a little lube – if you get my drift. Then I mixed it all up and hoped for the best. And guess what! Everybody liked the tuna salad! Imagine if I’d had celery. Wet spots in the crotch area for all! Good thing I left out the celery!
The proof of the pudding? Tuna salad all gone – which rarely happens. Next thing you know I’ll die my hair (or scalp as I have no hair) red and start running the kitchen at Litchfield (reference to OITNB). Not likely!
Hey! Check out the new header and tag line! Get it? All the “nudes” fit to print? You intellectual New York Times readers understand. Unfortunately, there’s a certain class of nudes who you won’t see on the sidebar. Ya know…the type with links and phone numbers. Oh well! What are ya gonna do? Write your local congressman or federal DA.