No license needed to captain this vessel.

They don't. In fact, even "zucchini raft" is really quite overoptimistic.

Speaking of overoptimistic, you should try some of these boats. "Mmm" is for "mmmediocre."

Anyway, it's been a good long while since I plunked down here and went about attempting to distract people with words and pictures; four months nearly to the day since I've made something worth mentioning. Well, that's not entirely true, really, but it has been quite some time. What got me back to pushing down buttons again? Other cooking, obviously.

I had a buddy over the other night, and we decided we'd try our collective hands at "Enchilada Lasagna," which was a recipe we'd come across on an episode of Alton Brown's Good Eats. It was indeed good eats. So good were the eats that my heart ached to again spend more than I should on supplies, to again waste away a weekend evening spinning around in the kitchen, and to again eat enough for three people. So what did I do?

Ruined my streak of never buying mushrooms.

I remembered something. Ho-ly shit.

Backstory: A few (six) weeks ago, I took a trip with some friends to see some friends in Colorado. (This has no relevance whatsoever to the outcome of the story, but now you know where I was.) Now, since we were there for quite a while, and it was really just being in a house where other people lived (while said other people went about their daily routines until the evening when we all came to life), there was a decent lot of television-watching. This was a pleasant surprise for me, because I haven't watched copious amounts of television in a very long while, and, frankly, I miss doing so. Some of it was crappy music-channel disposable programming about nobody-cares-what, some of it was of the soap variety, and some was cooking. It was in this last portion that I saw a lady cook some things that made me take note.

Zucchinis' back-sides.

Her name was Rachael Ray, and she made some vegetarian zucchini boats. There were bits of mint, mushrooms, herbs -- exactly the same sort of stuff that small- to medium-sized ground animals subsist on. And you know what? It looked good. I sort of hate mushrooms, and there is no such thing as a vegetable which can raise my pulse, and yet this culinary witchdoctor had voodoo'd me into a stupor with her mint and her mushrooms and her herbs. And so I took some very shoddy notes, which also included a bit about "adding sassage" in order to make it into an actual meal.

FAST-FORWARD TO THE PRESENT DAY. It's Friday, there are no plans, and I'm feeling like it's an appropriate time to postpone going to the gym. "You haven't cooked anything in a while, you lazy ass," I say to myself. And so, after a moment of rather dull recollection, I decided I'd make some stuffed zucchini boats. I left work, I bought things, I returned home.

Oh my God, I just remembered I also bought delicious lemon squares. I am going to eat those so hard.

This is what cooked food looks like.

Anyway, yes. I returned home and I got to the cookin'.

Now, I looked for the same recipe I saw on the television, but I couldn't find it. I referred to the aforementioned notes, but all they said were:

Zucchini boats! Mushrooms? Add sassage. Mint.

My note was of no use to me. So I went off of this one instead, and by "went off" I mean "looked at, largely disregarded, and improvised based in theory upon." I used "some" tomatoes and "less" onion, two links of spicy Italian sausage (which was not called for), half a portabella mushroom (also not called for), and pecorino romano in place of parmesan and mozzarella. Actually, that's pretty close to the original, just heartier.

I would like to point out that this recipe says simply to scrape out the zucchini guts and then bake the zucchini for a little bit to soften it up some. Another recipe I dug up (which I think was in fact one of Ray's) mentioned boiling the zucchinis (whole, guts in tact) for a few minutes before gutting, and made no mention of pre-baking whatsoever. Having found the zucchini to be a bit tough in mine (which were not boiled, but rather pre-baked) I would have to recommend this. The instructions were to boil until "tender," but not "soft." I'd imagine a good run under cold water afterward would be wise.

But, honestly, like I've said a couple times, they didn't turn out so hot, which I attribute to me disregarding the instructions. I mean, they weren't bad -- if I ordered a couple in a restaurant, I wouldn't be sending them back, but I also probably wouldn't be ordering them again in the future.

The friendly fungus.

The real point is this: I willingly ate a rather large quantity of mushrooms. Also I ate a few slivers fried and lightly salted but otherwise plain. That's crazy talk to me, because I think eating mushrooms is crazy talk. They're weird, man. Like, okay, I read that I had to be careful when cleaning or sautéing them because they "might absorb some liquid." Holy understatement, Batman. These things are like cloth. For example: I had some oil coming up to heat in a small pan and dropped in a few slivers to fry up so I could say I ate mushrooms plain. This is all well and good, until the oil around the mushrooms actually disappears and the slivers are several shades darker around the edges like a wet cloth.

Fine, maybe "something being absorbent" is not the wildest thing you've ever heard, but I thought it was something.

And why are they so soft? They are gross food. Cutting them sounds like cutting styrofoam. Gross.

But, honestly, they weren't bad. Their flavor did not overpower the rest (the sausage took care of that), but did come through with a good bit of definition. Interesting new flavor, but it definitely will not be showing up on my pizza any time soon.

So, in closing, what did I learn today? That I prefer romano to parmesan, and that mushrooms are precisely as off-putting as I had previously suspected them to be. (Also that URLLoaders don't fire init events.)

The Finished Product

Another week gone, another food did.

This week's special? Tiny pie! Four tiny pies, as a matter of fact. They are all apple, because it is an easy filling to produce (in my experience, which is limited to just this one time). They are all ugly because dough is the bane of my existence (a delicious, delicious bane).

Did I make a nice home-cooked meal for the pie(s) to accompany? Hell no. Pie is my home-cooked meal, fool. Which, I think, is probably the most badass thing one can do with a pie: consume it as a means of subsistence. Well, no, scratch that. The most badass thing to do with a pie is to throw it in a clown's face as much force as is humanly possible, because to beat up a clown with a pie would be "aces." (Sorry, clowns.)

Anyway, yes, tiny pies. A larger pie, although about equal in volume to the four ramekins I used, intimidated me just a bit too much, and I frankly don't care for the in-pan mess of a full-size pie midway through its consumption. I'd rather have a nice standalone unit that I can consume in its entirety without running the risk of eating 100% of a pie. I know I'm trying to remedy my drowned-rat physique put on a little weight, but eating an entire pie for dinner at 3am is not how I'd like to accomplish that task.

Speaking of accomplishing tasks, how did I accomplish these four small ones? As I've previously mentioned, I regularly begin my culinary weekend getaways with a quick (read: usually time-consuming and occasionally frustrating) stop by www.allrecipes.com, where I poke around for general ideas to set me off toward something I'd actually enjoy. This week, however, it was Google that took my hand and guided me to... well, to where I am. I wound up at a little place called Novel Eats which, although a vegan establishment and therefore of little use to me, gets bonus points by having a name similar to the esteemed Alton Brown's Good Eats television program.

The recipe (http://www.noveleats.com/dessert/mini-apple-pies/) I found was pretty much exactly what I was after, needing only a couple alterations from me. I used two Jonagold and one Granny Smith apple, slivered up real thin-like so as to allow thorough cook-through (I hate me a crunchy apple pie), and the four ramekins rather than the muffin tin that the recipe calls for. (6 muffins = 4 ramekins, in case you ever wondered. And yes, I do realize that a "muffin" is not mutually comparable to a "ramekin." I think we will survive.) Other than that, I had to swap the recipe's nutmeg for a bit of ground ginger (I have no nutmeg). Oh, and also I put a few cut up pats of butter atop the pie filling before laying on the top crust, as I saw this called for in a number of other recipes. Also also, I gave it a little brown sugar/cinnamon egg wash at the end (hence the slime).

That's it! This recipe plus the above changes (and an additional five or so minutes of cook time to account for their larger volume) will produce these tiny pies. They are ideally sized for a scoop of iced cream! Good iced cream. I swear to God, if you dare put Neopolitan iced cream on top of one of my tiny pies, you will be that knocked-out clown.

I have a confession to make.

I haven't eaten a pie yet. I mean, I've eaten pie, but not one of these. They just came out of the oven a few minutes ago, and they are still very hot. Also, I'm nervous. Every new type of thing I make gets me pretty antsy when it comes down to eating time, and this one (having prepared with alarmingly little incident) is no exception. I shall edit once I've determined whether these ugly little pies are worth reproducing.

THE VERDICT: These pies are killer. Killer.

Round two.

After Friday's social-event-shaped meal interruption and Saturday's me-sleeping-until-six, I finally found my way back into a kitchen this evening (my own; I try to make it something of a habit to not just appear in other folks' kitchens). I was still bent on putting asparagus in the same place as chicken, but beyond that I hadn't yet any idea what I'd do. Stir fry seemed a pretty obvious choice, and that made me uncomfortable (it always seems like a cop-out).

I paid a visit to AllRecipes.com for some inspiration, which, in an unusually brief span of time, I did indeed find. Fajitas! Kind of! Really just a wrap, but the recipe in question decided against such a bland name. And why not? It's like a party! ("Fajita," being vaguely similar to "fiesta," more-than-subtly implies a party to me.)

Unfortunately, the only ingredient I had on hand was the chicken, but that needed some time to marinade and I had a bit of running to do anyway, so that worked out well. I cut it into diagonal-type strips, imprisoned it in a Ziploc bag with some Italian dressing and red pepper flakes, and headed out the door.

First stop was the store, which I found out was a bad idea. See, I often wind up doing my grocery shopping around 10pm. I prefer this because the place is deserted and nobody's around to watch me pace absentmindedly up and down the same aisle two times trying to remember what I'm after, and then another two on top of that actually looking it, before realizing I'm in the wrong aisle altogether. No such luck today; every idiot with a driver's license and ten bucks was in that place, and I was right there with 'em.

Apparently today is playing host to a football game (or so I'm told; I did not consult the Internet to confirm), so there were a lot of guys in crooked hats and pajama pants buying beer I wouldn't even consider feeding to a dog, as well as many a grim middle-aged woman with nachos, frozen wings, and probably a hatred for men. There was one early-thirties business-type fellow in a nice trench coat buying only a single DiGiorno pizza, which he held in one hand. I felt bad that he had to wait in line with all the frat guys and angry women just to eat his dinner. I didn't see what kind of pizza he had.

Anyway. Bought my stuff, got the hell out, drove home, realized I forgot to go to the bank, drove to the bank, acquired some bills, drove back, put some money on my laundry card, got freaked out by the giant monster noises issuing from the laundry room (demon washer), talked to my crazy neighbor (twice; he too was spooked by the noises), and finally got down to business.

The rest is pretty much me cooking by the book, with the addition of some quartered grape tomatoes, so I don't suppose there's a whole lot to say. It was very tasty, didn't cost a ton, and ought to reheat well. Plus, it's probably the first dish I've put together that, despite being like 75% vegetables, didn't scream "this asshole didn't get enough meat."

What do you need to make it?

• One chicken breast (cubed or whatever)
• Two thirds of a "bunch" of asparagus (cut into two-inch... parts)
• Two bell peppers (julienned)
• One third of a red onion (diced)
• A half-cup of grape tomatoes (quartered)
• Two cloves of garlic (minced)
• Some sesame oil
• Some balsamic vinegar
• Some soy sauce
• Some lemon juice
• Seasonings (you figure it out)
• Tortillas or wraps or whatever

Once you've rustled up all that garbage, cook it. Saute the chicken with the oil until it's done being pink, then toss in the rest of the crap (excluding maybe the tomatoes, which will probably overcook if put in at this point). Add a bit more oil. After a while, add the tomatoes. Cook until it looks like you should be eating it instead of cooking it any longer. Ingest. Digest.

See what I did there? I combined the word "asparagus" with the name "Gustav" to create a totally new word! It's like genetic engineering, only my grain hasn't become any more resilient.

Truth is I couldn't muster up anything a) better, while still remaining b) relevant to my topic, so I fell back on my old standby: when in doubt, sound like an idiot.

Anyway, it's nearly Friday, and that means I'm supposed to cook something I haven't cooked before. Well, the job hasn't paid in a while (which is just too cool), so I'm feeling cheap. Would I like a steak? Yes, I would like a steak; I have not eaten a steak in an amount of time which spans beyond the (admittedly feeble) reaches of my memory. But, being cheap, I'll have to settle with our good friend gallus gallus domesticus, the Land Tuna, the necessarily versatile chicken.

Also asparagus, which I had previously revealed to you by proxy of awful joke.

But in what way? In what way?

I am open to suggestions! Guide my trembling, idiot hands around sharp tools and hot surfaces; point my naive and wandering eyes at... chicken and asparagus, and also ancillary ingredients. Help me help you feed me.

I know what happened, but it seems more appropriate for me to be saying "I have no idea how this came to be."

I'd like to think I actually had a half-decent meal idea here. I wanted to do a sort of fancy spin on a fancy Southern take on a stir fry, fancily. I had some brown and wild rice just hanging out in the cupboard, so that went in with some chicken stock to ricify you know, cook. I had that stir-fry-cut chicken I mentioned this afternoon, which I thought I'd batter and fry up beforehand. After that, I planned to just stir fry the chicken and rice together with (I had no idea what else I was going to use, so I was just sort of waiting on divine inspiration).

The problem came up in the frying stage. See, I'm a bum deep fryer. If it's not a nacho chip and I'm not a sixteen-year-old employed by Taco Bell, it probably isn't going to turn out well; I always wind up burnt, at least slightly slicked, and with a load of clean up. On top of that, I can never tell when the stuff's done cooking. It was chicken in this case, so I really didn't want to pull it out when it looked properly browned just to find it was still semi-opaque and salmonella-y in the center. Hell, I don't even have a kitchen thermometer, so I always wind up frying too hot (this situation will be rectified in a few days, thankfully). Anyway, point is a third of the chicken burnt up like a champ.

So now I've got this chicken on my hands that I'd really rather not put back into a pan for a second frying, what with having been fried to within an inch of a second death and all. The rice is pretty much fine, but not strong enough on its own to constitute a side to some burnt nuggets (plus, that would suck). So I just dumped the better pieces of chicken in the pot with the rice and lidded that up while I went about trying to prepare a little gravy.

The gravy (broth, a bit of white zin, some Italian dressing, a slice of butter, herbs, flour) actually turned out pretty good, and its acidity (thank you vinegar and wine) masked some of the charred undertones in the chicken (I told you I killed the stuff). I just dumped it all in a bowl, and am presently picking at it. Not what I'd intended.

However, upon geting to this point, I think that gravy would do well as the stir fry sauce should I decide to attempt this one again. Maybe some fresh green beans and jalapeños fried up in it? I really dig a bit of jalapeño with chicken-and-rice dishes, so I just may. Suggestions? Although I'm sure I'd like it, it's a bit too close to my standard fare to be of much benefit to my palate.

(EDIT: Did I wind up eating that chicken raw? Find out that and so much more right here.)

I've fallen into a pattern that has me reserving Friday night for cooking something new and just generally relaxing (such is life on the bleeding edge), but today I find myself out of stride. No soup supplies hanging out on the chest freezer, no ten different casserole recipes being cross-referenced, not even a taco kit taken down from the cupboard. No sir (or ma'am), all I've got is a pack of chicken breasts cut stir-fry style. That at least is nice, because damn do I hate preparing chicken (and that's an attitude I've copped without even dealing with more than untrimmed chest pieces).

What you ought to be taking away at this point is that I don't know what to eat tonight, aside from it being chicken. I did get a very nice lazy-Susan-of-spices for my birthday, which I intend to make some use of, but "chicken" and "spices" are more a direction than they are a route, so I'm still sitting on a stump poking at my kitchen compass, in a strictly metaphorical sense.

I mean, I suppose stir fry is a pretty obvious end point, what with it being written right on the chicken's packaging. I've got some fancy rice. Eh?

I don't know. It's not particularly important.

I had pretty good luck with casseroles two weeks back, fared well with the meat löf last week, and grains have always been kind to me, so I believe it is time I brave some uncharted waters. Waters where, as legend has it, Soup lives.

My grandma used to make a pretty mean beef barley, for which I found myself with a hankering earlier this week, so there my target lies. Now, I never actually saw her prepare the soup, so I've really got nothing to go on aside from a quarter-million potentially dicey recipes from http://www.allrecipes.com and my own blind thrashing-about in the kitchen culinary vision. I'm also without a stock pot which, by proxy of Good Eats, Alton Brown has made me think I require for anything large-in-quantity and primarily liquid. Could that be my undoing? It's anyone's guess at this point in the game.

But I will survive. If it turns out like beef mud, I've still got a ton of pasta that (I totally forgot) I made just last night, so starvation isn't in my immediate outlook. Not ruling it out over the remainder of my life (who knows?), but I'm not too worried about this weekend.

Anyway, I guess I ought to get to the shit-simmering.