When I cook, I almost always make things difficult for myself. I don't do this because I enjoy pain, but rather because I can always see a better outcome when I put in the extra effort. In this case, though, I may have gone too far. Observe how a simple idea went horribly, wonderfully wrong:
I planned to grill chicken this weekend, but with temperatures hovering around 94°F (~34.5°C), I decided to cook indoors (yes, I know...this is standard springtime weather in Texas, but the humidity was also unbearable). Rather than just grilling indoors - always a letdown when you have BBQ on the mind - I decided to finally do what I'd promised to do so many times and fry chicken. I cut it into nuggets, seasoned them generously, and things went beautifully:
Then, for no apparent reason, I started thinking about my favorite sandwich, the reuben. I had made them around St. Patrick's Day - made my own corned beef, too - but after all the work with the chicken, I didn't want to then cook corned beef. But, I did make a phenomenal sauce, a knockoff of
Zingermann's reuben sauce.
But, when I went for the rye bread I had bought a few days earlier, it was mostly gone (note: this is what happens when you live in the same house as other people who eat food). So, I decided to make my own rye bread. The advantage of this is that I got to add as many caraway seeds as I wanted (as you can see, I wanted a lot of them). The other advantage - and disadvantage - is that I could then cut it as thickly as I wanted.
The net result is the heart attack risk you see above. I did have to unhinge my jaw like an anaconda to take a bite. Not long afterward, the precariously balanced tower of food looked like Pompeii after Mt. Vesuvius erupted:
Don't worry...I'll be okay once the blood rushes back to my head.