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Mr. Bill Peters once wrote that something "made as much sense as mozzarella genitals." Last night something else made that much sense, and it was the fact that it took me three decades to discover halloumi cheese. A Lebanese restaurant provided the introduction. Akin to mozzarella in form, halloumi makes a refined salty pageant of itself. We made sluts of ourselves with the meal, and I can fully understand the Cypriotic tradition of using this cheese in a multi-valent manner, particularly the sun-dappled pairing with watermelon.
On self-doubtful days, one may look at any tool devised by man and see it as evidence of our failings. We have brakes because we don't trust ourselves to find the right bush, with the right sponginess, with which we can stop our bicycles. Tongs rise above man's regretted inabilities, though. Maybe it's the scalloped rim of their palms. Maybe it's the surety of steel which is stainless. Maybe it's the son we never had.
I have used my tongs twice in two days, once for arrabiata, once for spinaci. Pictured above is the come-hither of tongs. If you have not yet found them, you will when you advocate rationality as a means to establish an authoritative system of ethics, aesthetics, and knowledge.
Last night one of life's possibilities became a sauce of 1/2 cup of gorgonzola warmed with 1 cup of milk and some sage to give it ultimate pleasing properties, all performed ably by Ms. Gibbons. This was spooned over some chicken that had been fitted with a nut jacket, but I am of the opinion that the sauce can be used on anything which is a refrain or basis.
