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I just spent a good 10 minutes cleaning up about a whole cup of sugar from the counter tops and floor of my kitchen. You might think I'd be annoyed by the necessity, given the Fantastik-sugar slurry that is embedded in my fingernails, or the history of ants I've had in this apartment, but you'd be wrong. I was chuckling heartily the entire time.
I chuckled because the sugary dusting reminded me of yet another good time from the other drunken night with Thommi and Brett Sabulous. It was around 3am ... or maybe 6am, who remembers ... and I decided I was hungry. Since I've been out of town for a week my fridge is understandably barren. Sidenote: Why is refrigerator abbreviated fridge? Where the fuck did the 'D' come from? I guess because frige might be pronounced [frig*gy]? Where was I? Oh yeah -- empty friggy.
So I channeled the spirits of Contessa With Her Shoes Off and set about making a fabulous dinner party. If I learned one thing in my stint as an aspiring cook, it's that anything can be fried in butter ... and everything is better fried in butter. So I took a tortilla and a frying pan and set to work. The first one was pretty good and after sharing my concoction with my guests, there were three chefs in the kitchen. Three chefs with ideas for improvements. We set about to spicing things up.
The first thing we found in the ol' spice cabinet (I call it that because it's the only cabinet that has more than zero spices in it ... and less than three) was garlic salt. A few massive crispy garlic salt chips later and we were back in the ol' spice cabinet looking for round two -- not to mention downing beers to rehydrate our tongues. Sugar! Fuck yeah! Sugar would be fantastic. So Brett made a few sugar tortillas. Not bad ... but lacking. I kicked it up a notch by making a bowl of cimanimanon sugar. As I fried my butter tortilla, I hit it with pinches of cimanimanon sugar. It was alright, but not really flavorful enough.
Brett informed me that the traditional way to sugar pastries is with a sifter ... which I just happened to have. He said three sifts of sugar should be perfect. So I got my sifter out, Brett held it above the tortilla, and I poured the bowl of sugar into it. It turns out that sifters really only work with confectioners sugar, not so much with cane. It all fell immediately thru and piled on top of our dessert. Unphased, we both said, "Ooooonnnnneeee!" Two empty sifts later and we had the best fucking drunken breakfast ever dreamed up.
So anyway, that's why I cleaned up all night. I guess I could have just said, "We fried tortillas in butter and put sugar on them," but I think the long version was much, much better. See you skillets on the flip siiiiiiide.
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