Finally, my first entry! Hip hip, hooray!
The Chef, a friend of the Marshmallow's Husband, had been cooking the chili since two thirty. I always get terribly excited by the Chef's cooking, so I wandered in and out of the kitchen every now and then, volunteering my services for the more mundane tasks (peeling the garlic, opening tins, clearing away rubbish), as the Chef first oven roasted the bell peppers, onions and garlic for the chili, then carefully stir-fried the meat. I was completely enamoured by the smell alone.
"I think we need more food," the Chef's girlfriend said as she looked at the two gigantic pots of chili cooking on the stove.
As it turned out, we had far too much food - someone brought two pizza pies and pasta, while MH had bought some Korean dishes. The entire flat was booming with the sound of the television and the guests, especially at the end of each quarter (there was a gambling gig going on). Halfway through the game I realised we had only three beers left in a houseful of thirsty men.
"We need alcohol," I said to MH with my eyes wide open. MH wasn't paying attention. "I said, we don't have any more beer!" I said, louder.
"It's OK, people will just stop drinking," MH said. I raised my eyebrows at him.
"We'll go get some more beer," MH's friend, W, suddenly piped up. I was surprised and happy with his offer of help, until I realised he wasn't going alone. He was taking one of my girl friends with him.
"Time for chili!" the Chef yelled out, and we got bowls of tongue-burning hot chili with potato pancakes and grated cheese to eat while we denounced the Rolling Stones as too old. Then massive cheers resonated around the living room as Pittsburgh scored three touchdowns.
By the time the game was over, the house smelled of chili, beer and Pledge (in my drunken haze, I had decided the best thing to do was to polish the table). A few leathery slices of pizza were sitting forlornly on the kitchen counter (MH decided to keep them).
"We won sixty dollars," MH said.
"Hooray!" I said.
"But net net, we lost out, because I lost my office pool," MH said. "But you know, we were three points away from winning three hundred and fifty dollars."
"I think we need more food," the Chef's girlfriend said as she looked at the two gigantic pots of chili cooking on the stove.
As it turned out, we had far too much food - someone brought two pizza pies and pasta, while MH had bought some Korean dishes. The entire flat was booming with the sound of the television and the guests, especially at the end of each quarter (there was a gambling gig going on). Halfway through the game I realised we had only three beers left in a houseful of thirsty men.
"We need alcohol," I said to MH with my eyes wide open. MH wasn't paying attention. "I said, we don't have any more beer!" I said, louder.
"It's OK, people will just stop drinking," MH said. I raised my eyebrows at him.
"We'll go get some more beer," MH's friend, W, suddenly piped up. I was surprised and happy with his offer of help, until I realised he wasn't going alone. He was taking one of my girl friends with him.
"Time for chili!" the Chef yelled out, and we got bowls of tongue-burning hot chili with potato pancakes and grated cheese to eat while we denounced the Rolling Stones as too old. Then massive cheers resonated around the living room as Pittsburgh scored three touchdowns.
By the time the game was over, the house smelled of chili, beer and Pledge (in my drunken haze, I had decided the best thing to do was to polish the table). A few leathery slices of pizza were sitting forlornly on the kitchen counter (MH decided to keep them).
"We won sixty dollars," MH said.
"Hooray!" I said.
"But net net, we lost out, because I lost my office pool," MH said. "But you know, we were three points away from winning three hundred and fifty dollars."
.: posted by the Philosophical Marshmallow at 10:07 PM in Crazy Musings | 19 comments
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