On Friday, Neil, Ed and I were watching a couple episodes of the new Battlestar Gallactica (which is, seriously, awesome). Shortly after deciding that anything with the the suffix '-dama' becomes exponentially cooler (and I tried to convice Ed to start going by Edama), we ran out of nachos. There was still a bit of salsa in the bowl, but nothing to scoop it up with. Well, nothing that wasn't unbelieveably disgusting, that is.
There was, however, a box of oreos kicking about. I'd munched on a few earlier in the evening, and then Ed, fretting over the waste of perfectly good salsa, suggested they use the oreos to scoop it up. I believe, in my heart of hearts, that he meant it as a joke. But as is wont to happen when two spry young men are in a room together, jokes, suddenly morph into "I'll eat one if you do."
Horrified, I watched each of them load an oreo cookie up with salsa, raise them in a salute to each other's testosterone, and eat. They bpth chewed, seriously. Then, with one accord, their faces lit up. They chewed a little quicker, nodding. They announced: "Not bad! Not nearly as terrible as we thought. Not even ver much like vomit!"
Then, of course, the game became to get me to try one.
I held out for a very long time, on principle. Oreos and salsa represent the essence of an UNHOLY FOOD ALLIANCE. I am a girl and I don't play dicksize wars. I have left my gonzo food-contest days behind me. And really, eugh.
It took about half an hour of constant nagging to wear me down. They insisted, with one accord, that the not-badness of the combination bordered on the magical, and that it woulnd't be fair to let me get away without sharing in such a wonder. So I steeled myself and scooped up lots of salsa and prepared myself for gatronomical agony.
It wasn't that bad.
I wouldn't reach immeidately for the second, but the cream filling nicely neutralizes the heat of the salsa while the crunch of the cookie stands up to the salsa's runniness, and all in all there is a balance of salty and sweet that is...not bad.
After some debate, the boys named their culinary masterpiece 'The Sal'oreo.' Or it might be spelt 'sloreo.' I am not sure. I am a little ashamed to even know OF THE EXISTANCE of the SAL'OREO let alone DEBATE OVER THE PROPER SPELLING.
The rest of the weekend involved yummy food. Neil left very early on Saturday, after which Ed and I finished getting our taxes done, ate some fajitas, and went over to derek's to watch the leafs get systematically torn apart. This was sad. I like leafs hockey for two reaons: Ed's leafs jersey was the first piece of his clothing I ever borrowed (I wore it as a nightgown), and the sounds he makes and physical positions of abject agony he assumes when they're playing are just awesome.
Sunday was, of course, bacon day. Ed and I got up early to make a run to Sunterra market for general supplies and the all-holy maple pepper ham for Ed's lunch sandwiches. We were home just a few minutes when Neil came back, along with Tara and Shelley, and fabulous eggs were had by all (thank you, Gordon Ramsay, for this scrambled egg technique). Neil left for a while in the afternoon to edit, while Tara and I went shopping and Shelley and Ed played Mario Party. After coming back, sadly, with nothing for me and not even a cupcake for my efforts (darn you Crave for running out of stuff!), we watched iron chef, and then started scheming, while putting the last few edits on a bit of Neil's manuscript, to get ginger beef. Neil soon was roped into out scheme, and before long he was back on my couch and we were feasting on edamame, ginger beef and fluffy rice.
As an aside, is edamame awesome because it contains both 'dama' and 'Ed?'
After some MST3K, Tara went home and Neil and I had a chat. Well, it began as a chat that became a conversation and then started getting interesting -- but at least we noticed that it was 11pm instead of 3am when we usually snap out of the good-talk trance. Neil went home to edit, Ed and I collapsed in bed, and suddenly it was morning.
Now I am off to get my bungled taxes fixed. Booya!