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Rack o Lamb

Last night, I secured our place in DINK-hood by preparing and serving a meal that consisted of roasted rack of lamb, grilled portabella mushrooms and garlic mashed potatoes complimented by a lovely Cabernet Sauvignon. Yeah, it was a Tuesday, so what? It all started when I went to Costco to see if they had a specific type of bottled water for Jane. Actually, it was for Elliot, but still I went. It was the first time in a long time that I was at Costco without Ryan which was nice. He is rarely in the mood to be there, and typically rushes us through the store grabbing a family pack of ground beef, a couple frozen lasagnas and if I�m lucky a couple of bottles of wine. I am much more of a casual shopper, and prefer to roam the aisles thinking of all the fun stuff I could cook with all of the fun offerings.

So yesterday afternoon, I was strolling the aisles, reading all the labels and whatnot. I knew I needed to pick up some pork chops as Ryan declared my Microblast2000 pork chops the �best chop he�d ever had,� and I live for praise and positive feedback. So I�d selected a massive package of chops when I glanced over to the scary bone-in rack of lamb section. I think in flipping through channels I must�ve seen someone cooking lamb and thought, hey why not! So I selected a package not really knowing what the hell I would do with it. I also picked up some shrimp, a whole pineapple, two bottles of red wine and a package of beef jerky � because I�m classy like that.

Back at home, I stared at my rack of lamb. I pulled out my Betty Crocker and found a recipe. For our wedding, I was given the 75th Anniversary edition and because these recipes have been around for 75 years, I assume they must be pretty darn good. First off, let me just say that rack of lamb is nasty bloody. With ground beef and steaks and stuff, you get a bit of blood, but it is usually pretty watered down. Lamb � notsomuch. Big gelatinous smears of blood were hiding in between the little rib bones. Ew. Betty told me to trim the fat off my rack, so I got to it. I was trimming away, but those darn bones are tricky to hold on to, especially when your hands keep slipping on the blood. And yes, I did rinse the meat, (are you supposed to? I dunno!) but the blood didn�t all rinse away. It was on there something fierce! So I�m manhandling the meat � twisting it around so as to remove the excess fat when my knife slipped, and I cut the skin of my thumb right where it meets the base of the thumbnail. At first, I mistook my blood for lamb blood. Soon the throbbing set in so I rushed upstairs to get some Bactine and a Band-aid. Eli watched on with amusement. My thumb bandaged, I returned to the trimming of the fat. This was a bit more difficult now because of the wrapped thumb, but I prevailed and my rack was mostly fat free.

The next step in preparing the rack of lamb, according to Betty, is to rub it down with some olive oil. I appended her directions, choosing to pour myself a nice glass of vodka on the rocks to alleviate the throbbing thumb caused by step one. Fortified, I began massaging my rack with olive oil. You guys are getting turned on, aren�t you? That�ll end quickly. After massaging, my hands were both oily and bloody, so I rinsed them off and once again reached for my Grey Goose. My next task was to mix the seasoning which consisted of rosemary, Dijon mustard, salt and lemon juice. After mixing the seasoning, that whore Betty told me to rub that all over my rack. Only Betty forgot to remind me that lemon juice stings if it gets into a cut and HOLY HELL did it find its way past my Band-aid. MOTHER FUDDRUCKER�S BAKED BROWNINE SUPREME!!! That fucking hurt! I washed my hands again and then proceeded to rub my rack with my right hand while drinking vodka with my left.

After the lemon juice fiasco, I regarded Betty�s instructions with great suspicion. The last step, prior to putting the dish in the oven was to mix together melted butter and breadcrumbs. I did that without issue, and my rack was ready to roast. Once in the oven, I was left to clean the blood drenched kitchen prior to preparing the portabella mushrooms. My bandaged thumb was waterlogged by this point, so rather than clean, I had to go change the bandage. Eli followed me and watched curiously as I struggled to wrap the Band-aid around my thumb again. Back in the kitchen, mushrooms were cleaned, water boiled and vodka drank. The mushrooms were seasoned with a mixture of olive oil, garlic and basil and the potato flakes were set near the stove. I went to the wine rack and selected a bottle of wine to compliment this masterpiece meal.

With the mushrooms in the Microblast2000 on grill mode, I was left with a few minutes to prepare the table setting. I got out the wine glasses, plates, napkins, etc. I filled a couple of glasses with ice and squeezed a lime over the ice so as to perfectly compliment the sparkling water we would drink. I glared at the Betty Crocker cookbook as I carefully squeezed the lime. Bitch and her lemon juice. Whatever. Things were going well, the shrooms had been flipped, my rack checked and the table set when I decided I should open the wine.

The cork decided it didn�t want to cooperate with my corkscrew and rather than be skewered, it cowered down into the bottle. I was able to stab half of it with the corkscrew, but it broke off leaving half wedged in the bottle. I took the last swill of vodka, grabbed something pokey and began working on getting the rest of the cork out of the bottle. I had almost successfully stabbed the cork when it gave way kerplunking into the bottle and spraying wine all over my face, shirt and cabinets. Very nice. Frustrated, I threw my hands up in the air with my stabby poker tool in my hand. Ryan arrived home at about that time to see the kitchen drenched in wine and blood and me standing in the middle holding a pokey stabby tool. He laughed, referencing that commercial with the guy making pasta and the white cat. Great. The food still had a few minutes left, so I started to clean the kitchen up, and he pitched in as well. I was doing fine with the dishes until I started trying to get some cork off of my pokey stabby tool and managed to pierce the index finger on my right hand. Instantly it began bleeding. Fabulous.

Prior to enjoying this overly indulgent meal, I had to delicately balance a Bactine drenched paper towel between my right index finger and my left thumb so that I could adorn myself with Band-aids. Eli was getting used to this and anxiously awaited the ceremonial dropping of the little paper sticky covers which he would then sniff and ignore. I went back downstairs to eat, and it was quite lovely. I have no idea what the food was supposed to taste like, but it tasted damn good. Later we had a bit of sorbet, and get this, a glass of port. We are so DINK right now it is scary.

4:19 p.m. - July 13, 2005

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