I notice that, since I was wee and hovering behind my dear Gramma Betty in the kitchen, that I liked making the things I put in my mouth. Maybe it was because her daughter, my mother, was a God awful cook. Short order, my aunt would say. Everything, and I mean everything, needed piles of salt or ketchup or mustard or, in my later years, hot sauce. I also noticed that, being the psychotic that she is, despite all the times she would ask for help in the kitchen, she'd never accept it. The best I could do was wash dishes afterward.
To stay on topic, I shall skip the awkward moments of my life and simply say that I moved out. No more "home cooked meals", not that I was missing much. It was a step in the right direction. The second step came from, and don't laugh, the Food Network. Specifically, the show Good Eats. Alton Brown speaks to me in a language I can understand: science. Being the hellish nerd that I am, the hows and whys make more sense to me than the whats that most cookbooks will offer. So, as a warning, you may see some recipes that closely resemble what you see on that show. Bear with me. Lastly, I'm married now. My wife, or DW as she'd put it on HER blog, has the lap band. This means, to me at least, that to help her, I need to ever so carefully control her "input" so as not to break any of her sensitive insides.
To sum up, now I NEED to cook.
Some of it's traditional and some of it's some psychotic combination that my friends still don't let me forget about (salsa con queso and spam). Some of it is a healthy alternative and some of it took a trip through the deep fryer my sister got me for my birthday. Some of it's a good idea. Some of it... uhm...
Well, anyway, welcome to Flavor Country.
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