[Self disclosure: I’m a dork and I’m cool with that.]
I woke up this morning to an unusual smell. Hmmm, I thought. Rotting garbage? No, couldn’t be. Dead animal? No, it’s not that bad. The smell got more intense as I entered the kitchen. Wow. Now that is some pungent nastiness, I thought. WTF?!?
It was hubs’ breakfast experiment gone terribly, terribly wrong. At least he admitted it. “Remember when we lived in an apartment and all we would smell is someone’s nasty cooking?” Of course I remember that. It was gross. “That’s what this smells like.” Yes, yes it does. “I thought I’d try to make kimchi rice. Instead of water, I put in kimchi juice to cook the rice.” Aha. “I don’t know…I guess I’ll see how it tastes.”
Poor guy. After our quick morning “cat walk” (aka: walk in the ‘hood looking for some of the friendly cats we’ve randomly named. Don’t judge.), he opened the rice cooker. “Wow,” I heard. Then: “did you want to take a picture of this?” I took a look inside the pot and lo and behold, it looked like bloody rice. I took a pass on the photo op. Turns out that unless you dilute the kimchi with some water, it makes for extremely salty, pungent, and bloody-looking rice. I give him credit for creativity.
My olfactory senses are on par with Fido, for sure. I pity the day I get preggers because I hear that it only heightens your sense of smell. I am totally screwed. I can barely tolerate the smell of certain things as is it.
The kimchi incident has been the only hitch in our “Asian celebration” this week thus far. Sunday night was a no-brainer:
We followed that up with a Japanese-themed dinner last night:
This was super-quick and extremely tasty. The toro sashimi rocked my world. And the soba noodles didn’t hurt my old lady belly.
One last thing to further display the off-beat, syncopated rhythm (in a good way) of my household. Behold, one wild and crazy little tomato:
Nothing else to do but to embrace it with both arms. I’m cool with that.