8 thoughts on “2367

  1. Reblogged this on richwrapper and commented:
    Do I sense a deer-rump theme. When someone (almost always a provable accident) killed a deer on Disney World property, dad would get called out (he had one of those charming Popiele(sp?)pocket fisherman devices, too, to fish for 1-pound bass when he did the Disney canals water pumps tour, too – and somehoe he’d get one of the backstraps (fillet mignon analogs) a haunch which would include the rump (when marinaded in sour-root stock orange juice, onions and garlic) would slow-cook tender on a low-fire grill…’scuse the carnivor typing this is drooling on the keyboard – that Bambi’d forgive us both. I supplied the garlic and sometimes the sage but always the squoze sour-root orange juice and the green twigs of tree to slightly smoke the feast.

  2. And here I key-sit with a Navel orange-‘fused salad awaiting my come-homuppence, bedraggling whether ’tis nobler to flesh-tuna from its can and salad-ify for sammiches – the longways sliced realdill not-at-all ehtnically administered a must – and I found a matching empty five-gallon space bottom shelf fridginatorwise so I hunker (or is that hanger?) after some screwed cow on fire. But, wait, I just found some cans of garbanzo (chickpeas…if you pull them out do chicks come by peeing?) and have hidden harisa and othersuch’ditions for a humus hattack mit superior EVOO and some just-filched (with lucer-mine, alas!) smoked paprika…or, in the words of immortal Prime Time Dieon Sanders: “why not both?” Or thrice?

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