Posts Tagged ‘Hot dogs’
I meant to cook some Mexican food, so we could start celebrating Cinco de Mayo last night, but a funny thing happened at the butcher shop.
I only went there to pick up some chorizo to go into my refried beans, but sitting in the corner of the butcher case were 6 beautiful, plump all beef hot dogs calling out to me.
I know what you’re thinking. Hot dogs? Sorta lowbrow and gross, right? Not from our butcher. He makes the best sausages. Also, we had some buns to use up from the brats we had eaten earlier in the week. So dinner plans changed.
In the past, I reserved hot dog eating for baseball games, but we live in BFE, which is nowhere near any sporting arenas. So, if I want to have a hot dog once a year, I’m gonna have to cook it myself. Or have Sean do it.
When I got home Sean gave me a sort of puzzled look. Later, when it was time to actually cook dinner, he asked me again, a little incredulously, if we were really having hot dogs?
Yes. We had hot dogs. And they were delicious. Sean ate two.
See for yourself.
In the corner of the plate is some of that leftover healthy risotto I made the night before. You didn’t see that, alright?
Here was our homage to Mexican food, even though I still haven’t gotten around to making any actual food.
Those are tequila shots. It should be known that I hate tequila, and usually end up in tears or extremely angry when I drink it. I’ve been trying to have a shot every now and then to see if I start to like it. So far, I don’t like it.
These are the flowers my awesome boyfriend picked in the yard for me that afternoon. Isn’t he the greatest, even if he doesn’t always trust my culinary instincts?
You can also see our pinball machine in the corner. It’s vintage and silly, and we like to refer to our house as the Vine Street Archade and HiFi Emporium. Or at least Sean does.
He thinks I hate the pinball machine and want to get rid of it, but I secretly love it. Don’t tell him.