so yep... it actually hit 110 degrees in the Dallas Ft.Worth Metroplex today... unfortunately I missed this great historic event as I was driving up to McAlistar Oklahoma... where, at 3 PM it was a mere 107... HAH... I laugh at 107... WIMPS.
Raced back to Ft. Worth, because I'd been invited to dinner at one of the church guys house.
Now, this particular church guy has these dinners almost weekly. I enjoy the company. I enjoy the food... usually, but we'll get to that... I don't enjoy the wine.
He invariably serves chardonay.
I hate and despise anything chardonay. Now yes... I will admit that there are very subtle nuances to it's flavor... sometimes its a hint of kerosene. Sometimes it's turpentine... on one very memorable occasion, I would have sworn that someone had poured a glass of chilled vintage gasoline. But, according to my tastebuds... it's all distinctly oily and petroleum based. It doesn't taste like anything that should be in my mouth.
I have tried every subtle way of letting this be known. I have had loud, easily overheard conversations obout the lack of merit of chardonay... I have taken one sip, sat the glass on the table and drank water for the rest of the meal. I have even, three weeks ago, brought a fairly espensive bottle of wine along... that is still sitting on that mans kitchen counter...
Tonight, as I was speeding towards Ft. Worth and dinner, I made a quick call from the road saying that I'd be about 15 minutes late. I texted another guy that was going to be there and said I'd see him there but I was running late.
I get there... only 10 minutes late actually, go to the table, and commence to dig in. Or try to. What's this?
"It's Moroccan Chicken..."
Then the guy who I had texted said... "Oh, well we figured you weren't coming, so I ate it"
"I said I was gonna be late..."
"We didn't think you'd make it back from Oklahoma this quick."
"I drive places quickly for a living."
Blank stares all around.
Finally, after a little digging, half of a chicken thigh was located. There were also four chunks of potato and some carrots with what appeared to be onion gravy on them.
I was offered cous cous which I declined. I've eaten a lot of cous cous in my life, but I have to admit I've never tasted any of it. Evidently, the tastebuds that taste petroleum in the chardonay also refuse to acknowledge the mere existence of cous cous. I also didn't eat the pita bread, but that's because I'm not a bread eater. We didn't have one of those families that had bread on the table at every meal. Actually, it was rare. I evidently just don't have the habit of it.
And then, of course, the inevitable glass of chardonay. I'm afraid that after the polite sip, setting the glass down was a bit of a thud, followed by a lunge for the water glass tho... this glass was distinctly on the chilled gasoline list.
Anyway... excused myself as soon as possible and headed to the nearest fried chicken joint. It may not be "Moroccan" but it's damned good.