I was going to post about cookouts on Labor Day, but the truth of the matter is, I haven’t unfurled our barbecue grill since my ex left. I’m afraid to use the thing since the time I tried to start it without supervision and singed the hairs off my arm. I’m just grateful that’s all I did, and I can laugh about it now, but propane makes me nervous. Just ask the manager at my first apartment. Every time the pilot light went out, I called the main office.
Anyway, we had some fun today at my house. After a pity party in which I bemoaned my lack of success with OurTime.com, I decided to get off my arse and go do something. As it turned out, I’d split up a bag of white potatoes I picked up at the farmer’s market, half for boiling, half for french fries. See, ever since we had Boardwalk Fries in Ocean City, I’ve wanted to make homemade fries, to prove to the boys that fresh food was way better than fast food. Continue reading