March 31st, 2008 | 22 Comments »

Warrior Woman pimped for me yesterday, bless her heart. She brought me a friend of hers who was very reluctant for a reading, but who came away from it very peaceful and glad she had decided to face her fears.

She brought another friend, who I had met previously, and while I did the reading in my office, the two others concocted food plans for the day. Her food buddy, Red, is a professional cook, and never cooks for Warrior Woman. Instead, she buys a load of food and schleps it over to WW’s apartment, and entrusts it to her excellent care.

Warrior Woman has a fetish for cookbooks, and by that I mean, get your mind out of the gutter, Knudsey. She collects them. She is a most excellent cook. I always look forward to her needing my techy help because she prefaces the request with an invite to dinner. Yum. It gives a whole new delicious meaning to “Will work for food.”

She hasn’t yet been able to replicate my most excellent homemade pizzas though, and it causes her pizza envy, Oh, be quiet, Knudsey.

So whenever she asks me if I have a hankering for my favourite red wine, I start a batch of pizza dough, because I know that’s what she wants for supper. She doesn’t ask directly for anything, rather she offers something first. It’s a funny little dance we do. The dance is funnier with the larger bottle of wine.

There is an art to making cheeseless pizza. (We both have issues). First, the crust must be thin. I use a rolling pin. And multigrain flour. I’m quirky that way. I also throw a few herbs into the dough.

The sauce is nothing special, just your everyday pasta sauce. I saute my onions and garlic before I put them on. I make sure I add herbs and spices to the mixture while it is frying. I use a mixture of ground pork and ground lean beef, suitably fried and spiced, and the thing that makes it so yummy is the sausage. Oh, the sausage. Sun-dried tomato sausage, fried and sliced up ahead of time. A few raw sliced mushrooms, and Bob’s your uncle.

It’s a lot of work to make pizza at casa witchypoo, but I cook a lot of the ingredients ahead of time and freeze them into pizza-sized portions.

It’s practically a tradition now. We only eat pizza when WW visits. If someone else came for pizza, it would feel like we were cheating on her. I guess you could say about me “Will cook for wine.”

December 26th, 2007 | 7 Comments »

I have been tagged by Kim. This is what the weekend is for.

The Rules Of The Meme:

 

  • Each player makes a list of eight random facts/habits about themselves.
  • At the end of your list, choose eight people to to tag and list their names.
  • Leave them a comment on each of their websites to let them know that they have been tagged.
  • The people tagged will write a post on their own website about their eight things, post these rules, and tag eight others.
  • etc etc blah blah blah…

1. I hate shopping. Really, I don’t go out much at all, except to visit with friends.

2. I used to be a clean freak, but I’m feeling much better now.

3. I graduated with honours from a database program. Nobody wants a geezer on their IT team it seems.

4. I have the conviction about these things about me that nobody really wants to know them, or cares to read them. My friends are much more interesting than I am.

5. I have sworn that I will not attend another funeral. My mother’s funeral was so traumatic that I will have none of it, ever again. I have told my Grammie this, and she is okay with it, because I come to see her every chance I get.

6. I wish I had a secret Santa to buy me a kickarse digital camera. And I’m totally sick of filling my own darned stocking.

7. You can always tell the days I don’t feel like cooking supper. Those are the days I reward myself for shopping in the first place and bring home a frozen pizza. The pizza I make at home is killer.

8. I can’t wait until the snow is right to make a big, fat snowperson. I will dress it up with scarves and hats, and hope that the kiddies in the neighbourhood will play with me.

I’m not tagging anybody, because I don’t want anyone to feel obligated.