Wednesday, June 1, 2011

I Might Make Really Good Pizza, It's a Recipe-Ish People

Today I'm writing to my friend Scott, basically because he just tweeted me and asked.

(Is "tweeted" the proper verb to use here?  Because it sounds sort of dirty and that's not my intention.)

Ok, he didn't really ask so much as he mentioned it and since I've been staring at a blank screen trying to figure out what the hell I'm doing for the last hour, Scott's tweet seems like a "sign." 

A dirty sign, but a sign.

It's possible that no one will find this entertaining other than me, Scott and a few random people from high school that happen to read it.   I apologize in advance to anyone else that has stumbled here.  Please read some of my favorites from the blog like this.  Or this. Or maybe even this.

A little background....I met and became friends with Scott in high school primarily by me falling madly in love with one of his best friends, but my fascination with him began many years before that. 

When I was around 8 years old I was enrolled in tap and jazz classes at the Diane McOmber School of Dance.

(I had basically given up on gymnastics due to the fact that I was scared to do anything beyond a cartwheel and even that was a bit shaky.)

I basically loved tap class, but wasn't exactly a star student in any mode of dance. 

I know, it's shocking to hear that, especially if you've seen me break it down at a wedding. I appear to have mad skills and all sorts of "raw"'s just moves I've memorized from hours of watching music videos.

At the annual end of the year recital I was sitting in the back of the local high school theatre with my group, trying to figure out how to affix my sequined top hat to my head so that it would stay put during my rigorous performance, when the dance studio owner's daughter stepped onstage with what I believed was a striking young Jewish boy. 

Yes, a sequined vested Jewish boy with a non-sequined top hat.   

Where the hell did they find him?

They began a number of Stepping Out With My Baby that straight up mesmerized me.  They were tapping and dancing AND singing. I didn't even know there would be singing at the recital or I would have tried to prepare something.  It was straight out of a Disney movie. 

I can't sing, but I wanted to jump in and participate.  I wanted to loan Scott my sequined top hat and be his best friend so maybe he'd want to put together a little routine with me.  Amazing.

Since we didn't attend the same elementary or junior high, it wasn't until high school that I rediscovered him.  I guess he must have been at the dance studio, but apparently I was too focused on not jacking up my shuffle-ball-change to notice.

Surprisingly, Scott no longer wore sequins (OK, only on special occasions) and I rarely heard him sing (still love that voice) but suddenly I was friends with the famous kid from my youth.  Bliss.

Turns out he probably wouldn't be asked to be in any Disney movies, he veers toward the vulgar, but Dear Lord he's entertaining.  He'll work his ass off and make basically anything fantastic.

He can out sarcastic me by far. He can make the most boring of situations hysterically funny. 

He'll talk to you about anything and make it WAY more interesting than it would have been if pretty much anyone else was talking to you.  Seriously, any one. 

He's a talented, good man. 

A good man.

He can totally rock a sequined vest too, and that's difficult to do.

Let's begin.

Dear Scott,

Thanks for inspiring/requesting your involvement in this post.  I'm pretty sure you were unaware that every Wednesday I write a recipe-ish, where I tell someone in my life (or fictitious new moms because there is so much to say to them,) how to make something that I prepare for my family. 

This makes me feel like I have actual knowledge worth imparting and I can put it together in a format that is both confusing and entertaining, which makes it much more fun for me. 

I know you are probably just getting back to LA after your fancy time in Baton Rouge, changing the ways of the South, so perhaps you're hungry?  Maybe I can help you make a pizza?

I have no clue what you eat for your meals. I also don't quite understand what you actually do every day, I'm still at a loss for why you don't want to move to Austin to be our manny.  It would be fun!  Who needs a career when you could talk to Cole all day?

Actually, since you were spreading the phrase, "eat a bowl of dicks" around the South the last few days, I might have a few reservations about your ability to adequately shape the lives of my children. I mean, I'm still proud of your ability to start a trend and shape the world, I'm just not sure my kids should be a part of it. 

So, if I had to guess, I would say you drink a lot of smoothies and protein shakes, but I could be really wrong.  I  gather most of my knowledge about men in LA via the HBO hit Entourage and old episodes of Joey.  Can we have a moment to talk about how much I love that show?  Entourage, not Joey. I actually mourned the loss of any new episodes when we finished watching all the seasons currently on DVD. 

I have so few joys outside the kids anymore.

Do you have an entourage by the way?  If yes, can I come visit and just hang out for a few days?  I could just blend into the background with my three kids. 

Anyway, I know you have a cat, because you photograph it as much as I do my children, which sort of concerns me, but just so we are clear....I do not consider that an entourage.  I also despise cats.  Sorry.  I'm not a cat person, I'm allergic and I think they are sort of creepy, let's leave it at that.

Here is what you will need:

1.5-2 pounds rump roast (try not to giggle)
1 pound carrots chopped in 1/2 inch pieces
1 pound baby red potatoes
2 yellow onions - diced
1 stalk celery - sliced
1 cup water
3/4 cup red wine

I know, you probably are confused about why the hell you need to buy a rump roast to make pizza, but it will make sense eventually. you follow a kosher diet?  Does rump roast violate that?  What does kosher really mean? 

Could you please make a Jewish joke for me here? 

Did I ever tell you that I was convinced that I saw you on the Jews for Jesus bus a few years ago here in  Austin.  I was so proud of you, but I might have been incorrect and it wasn't you.  It was a big moment for me so I prefer to still think you were hanging out on that bus. 

I have this image of you from high school, standing next to a table where I am sitting in that McDonald's at Carmel Drive and Keystone, and I was trying to say something to you and you kept accusing me of calling you a "kike."  I was very flustered and confused and scared and I couldn't stop laughing. 

You should do that in an audition soon, it really shook me, moved me it might work from a professional stand point.  

Please let me know if you need any other professional advice.  I clearly have all the answers if I am suggesting you yell racial slurs at people that could get you a job.  I guess I'm just saying it worked for me, but you do what you want.

Back to the rump roast.

Get a crock pot.  Do you have a crock pot?  Do you think less of me for having a crock pot?  If you don't have one, go borrow one.  Maybe you could talk to you really tan, older neighbor that you like to photograph and post on Facebook?  Is he in your entourage with your cat?

Do all older people look like that in LA?  Remember that orange looking old lady in There's Something About Mary?  I feel like that is my image now of older people in California. All it took was your Facebook page and that movie.  Let's say I'm easily swayed.

In college I was easily swayed by my friend Leslie to pierce my nose.  Did you know that I did that?  She and I went to one of those piercing joints and she pierced her tongue while I had someone shove a huge needle through my nose. 

Do not do this!  It hurts!

It's possible that she didn't sway me and I thought it was a really good idea, but it sounds better to blame her, especially since my Mom probably reads this.  Don't you wish you had known me more in college? 

So get the crockpot and then put all the vegetables in the bottom.  Put the rump roast on top and then pour the water and the wine in on top of those.  Sprinkle with salt and pepper.

It's going to look impressive.  It's going to look like amazing comfort food.  It's going to look like it would be delicious after a good eight hours of cooking on low, served with some red wine and really fresh french bread.  Yummy.

But that's not going to happen Scott.  It's not ever going to happen.  Go ahead and feed this to your cat.

For some reason I keep trying to make a recipe like this because I feel like it should be really good.  It never tastes good though.  It's usually a dried out piece of meat surrounded by mushy vegetables. 

I think there are probably a lot of directions you could go with "dried out piece of meat surrounded by mushy veggies."  For those of us in the stay at home world, this is not an opportunity for crude jokes or a chance to just go out for dinner....that doesn't happen. 

There's no way I could pack up my three children to go out for dinner at a moment's notice.  A trip out to dinner takes a good hour or two of preparation and any outing done "on the fly" will be a certain disaster. 

If only I had that manny.... 

(Reformed, of course, from all penis jokes and the need to say fuck when anything goes off course...because you would basically be saying it all day around my children.)

So, this is when you call and order a pizza.   I make it very well and I'm reasonably confident you can too.

My offer to bake a chocolate pie for you still stands.  Come visit Austin before you become too famous to hang out with Alex and me and listen to Cole sing The Penis Song.