I have a terrible confession to make: I’ve been wearing pajamas all day. Like, even when I went to pick up the boy at school this afternoon, I just threw on some jeans and a jacket over my pajamas and headed out. But since I’ve been back, I have been puttering around the house in sleepwear. I’m pretty sure that if I had a job working at home, I would wear pajamas 24/7. Since the snow has been coming down at an increasingly stronger clip throughout the day, the Busy-Lazy boys have stayed indoors. Busy daddy has been working (and napping) and the boy has been playing Minecraft (and watching YouTube videos). Meanwhile, I did some laundry, reorganized the kitchen, and cleaned the entire downstairs because being at home invariably makes me want to clean my house (in my pajamas and stuff).  I also spent the afternoon making braised beef short ribs, which we had for dinner tonight with garlicky roasted potatoes and cornbread. Busy daddy said it was yum! And even the boy said it was yum! I say it was awight, but I’m not a good judge of taste these days because I can’t taste anything due to my stupid stinkin’ sinus infection, yo! Now we’re debating whether to have ice cream or ice cream for dessert. I think we’re gonna go with ice cream.

I have a terrible confession to make: I’ve been wearing pajamas all day. Like, even when I went to pick up the boy at school this afternoon, I just threw on some jeans and a jacket over my pajamas and headed out. But since I’ve been back, I have been puttering around the house in sleepwear. I’m pretty sure that if I had a job working at home, I would wear pajamas 24/7.

Since the snow has been coming down at an increasingly stronger clip throughout the day, the Busy-Lazy boys have stayed indoors. Busy daddy has been working (and napping) and the boy has been playing Minecraft (and watching YouTube videos). Meanwhile, I did some laundry, reorganized the kitchen, and cleaned the entire downstairs because being at home invariably makes me want to clean my house (in my pajamas and stuff). 

I also spent the afternoon making braised beef short ribs, which we had for dinner tonight with garlicky roasted potatoes and cornbread. Busy daddy said it was yum! And even the boy said it was yum! I say it was awight, but I’m not a good judge of taste these days because I can’t taste anything due to my stupid stinkin’ sinus infection, yo!

Now we’re debating whether to have ice cream or ice cream for dessert. I think we’re gonna go with ice cream.

Rather than “hang out” into the wee hours with all of the cool kids, who are all probably “hanging out,” and being cool and stuff into the wee hours, I decided to order some room service and go to bed at a reasonable hour. I know I should be more social and stuff, but a) I have a cold and still feel like ka-ka-doody, and b) people and crowds are scurry, obvs. One of the challenges of feeding my face hole when I’m not at home is that everything has gluten in it. Like, I’m pretty sure that Americans are addicted to gluten and gluten-products because there may or may not be a government conspiracy to feed us genetically modified foods that make us into docile simpletons, starting with genetically modified wheat and wheat products. I’m just sayin’. When I called Room Service and ordered a burger, I requested no bun. The operator said, “Come again?” And I said, I don’t want a bun. And the operator was all, “Would you like the bun on the side?” And I was all, No, thank you, I don’t want a bun at all. And the operator was all, “You’d like a burger, but no bun?” And I said, Yes, please. And the operator was all, “Um … OK, Mr. Jarkalooky. Cheddar avocado burger, medium, but … um … no … bun.” It was as if I ordered the ground-up, charbroiled carcass of a helpless animal covered in cheddar cheese and avocado, hold the bun. Oh wait. Imma gonna take me some NyQuil and be asleep in 3-2-1-zzzzz….

Rather than “hang out” into the wee hours with all of the cool kids, who are all probably “hanging out,” and being cool and stuff into the wee hours, I decided to order some room service and go to bed at a reasonable hour. I know I should be more social and stuff, but a) I have a cold and still feel like ka-ka-doody, and b) people and crowds are scurry, obvs.

One of the challenges of feeding my face hole when I’m not at home is that everything has gluten in it. Like, I’m pretty sure that Americans are addicted to gluten and gluten-products because there may or may not be a government conspiracy to feed us genetically modified foods that make us into docile simpletons, starting with genetically modified wheat and wheat products. I’m just sayin’.

When I called Room Service and ordered a burger, I requested no bun. The operator said, “Come again?” And I said, I don’t want a bun. And the operator was all, “Would you like the bun on the side?” And I was all, No, thank you, I don’t want a bun at all. And the operator was all, “You’d like a burger, but no bun?” And I said, Yes, please. And the operator was all, “Um … OK, Mr. Jarkalooky. Cheddar avocado burger, medium, but … um … no … bun.”

It was as if I ordered the ground-up, charbroiled carcass of a helpless animal covered in cheddar cheese and avocado, hold the bun. Oh wait.

Imma gonna take me some NyQuil and be asleep in 3-2-1-zzzzz….

You know how sometimes the last thing you want to do when you get home from work, after a long day of being a super-glamorous busy business lady, is to put on your vintage apron and cook something for dinner? No? It’s just me? Alrighty then. I mean, if food could be delivered through a medium like a nicotine patch, I would totes use something like that. Who needs to chew? Chewing is for the birds. Hey! Don’t steal my brilliant, trademarked idea for a food-delivery-slash-nicotine-patch, yo! It’s nights like these when I tell my family that we’re having Deviled Eggs for dinner. After everypony has gotten over their shock and disgust, they will begrudgingly eat what’s put in front of them. I’m too lazy to make real Deviled Eggs, so here’s a super-easy way to make “Deviled Eggs.” Hard boil some eggs. This sounds easier than it actually is. Here’s my foolproof method: place some eggs in a pot. Add cold water until it just barely covers the top of the eggs. Bring that shizz to a boil, and then immediately cover and take the pot off the heat. Let that shizz rest for 16 minutes. Perfect hard-boiled eggs. Peel the eggs and slice them in halves. Squirt some mayo on the egg slices. I recommend Japanese mayo, which is yum. Sprinkle with coarse ground pepper.  Voilà! Your family will hate lurve it! If they don’t, too bad.

You know how sometimes the last thing you want to do when you get home from work, after a long day of being a super-glamorous busy business lady, is to put on your vintage apron and cook something for dinner? No? It’s just me? Alrighty then.

I mean, if food could be delivered through a medium like a nicotine patch, I would totes use something like that. Who needs to chew? Chewing is for the birds. Hey! Don’t steal my brilliant, trademarked idea for a food-delivery-slash-nicotine-patch, yo!

It’s nights like these when I tell my family that we’re having Deviled Eggs for dinner. After everypony has gotten over their shock and disgust, they will begrudgingly eat what’s put in front of them. I’m too lazy to make real Deviled Eggs, so here’s a super-easy way to make “Deviled Eggs.”

  • Hard boil some eggs. This sounds easier than it actually is. Here’s my foolproof method: place some eggs in a pot. Add cold water until it just barely covers the top of the eggs. Bring that shizz to a boil, and then immediately cover and take the pot off the heat. Let that shizz rest for 16 minutes. Perfect hard-boiled eggs.
  • Peel the eggs and slice them in halves.
  • Squirt some mayo on the egg slices. I recommend Japanese mayo, which is yum.
  • Sprinkle with coarse ground pepper. 
  • Voilà! Your family will hate lurve it! If they don’t, too bad.

I made grilled marinated flank steak and “dirty” rice and beans for dinner tonight. The butcher at the local market recently starting selling “Wagyu” beef, which is either a boon to American palates or a total scam. Whether the beef is authentically Kobe beef (even adjacently, which is unlikely) or simply beef that’s been bred to be Kobe-like or Japanese-style is neither here nor there as far as I’m concerned. I think the stuff is pretty good.

Too bad the boy thought tonight’s steak was “blech” and “horrible.” The boy said, “Dad, why do you always have to cook meat like this?” And I was all, Because it’s easy and daddy likes it. And the boy was all, “Well, I don’t care of it. I wish you made more Vietnamese or Japanese food.” And I was all, First, I’m a terrible Vietnamese or Japanese food cooker; and second, I’m too lazy to prepare that kind of food because it takes Too Much Chopping and Too Many Steps.

And the boy was all, “We should have someone come to our house to cook good food for us.” And I was all, Who do you think we are? Eddie K’s parents? And the boy was all, “I dunno, but I think you should work on your cooking.”

As a consolation, I gave the boy some lychee ice cream for dessert. The boy said, “Finally, something that tastes good. Sorry, dad.”

Busy daddy said tonight’s dinner was yum, so whatevs. Once the boy gets shipped off to boarding school when he’s 12 years old, then we’ll see if he starts to miss his old man’s home cooking, yo!

In honor of our very Scandinavian lunch dessert, I made Swedish meatballs for middag. And by made Swedish meatballs, I mean I opened a package of frozen, pre-cooked köttbullar, put it in the ugn for 20 minutes, and then served it with some gräddsås, sylt lingon, and stuvad spenat. The boy said the köttbullar was yum-slash-horrible. I said, How can it be yum and horrible at the same time? And the boy said, “When I eat the meatballs, they taste good, but when I think about them, my mind tells me the meatballs taste horrible. Then I said, Well, you usually like Swedish meatballs from Ikea. And the boy said, “Only if I can’t have rice noodles.” And I said, We had pho for lunch today, and this is what we’re having for dinner. And the boy said, “We should always have pho for lunch and dinner.” And I said, I recall you telling me that you don’t like the pho that I make. And the boy said, “I don’t like your pho. We should have pho made by a cooker who knows how to make it. Sorry, dad.” My son, the picky epicurean. Whatevs. I say the Swedish meatballs from Ikea were yum!!!

In honor of our very Scandinavian lunch dessert, I made Swedish meatballs for middag. And by made Swedish meatballs, I mean I opened a package of frozen, pre-cooked köttbullar, put it in the ugn for 20 minutes, and then served it with some gräddsås, sylt lingon, and stuvad spenat.

The boy said the köttbullar was yum-slash-horrible. I said, How can it be yum and horrible at the same time? And the boy said, “When I eat the meatballs, they taste good, but when I think about them, my mind tells me the meatballs taste horrible. Then I said, Well, you usually like Swedish meatballs from Ikea. And the boy said, “Only if I can’t have rice noodles.”

And I said, We had pho for lunch today, and this is what we’re having for dinner. And the boy said, “We should always have pho for lunch and dinner.” And I said, I recall you telling me that you don’t like the pho that I make. And the boy said, “I don’t like your pho. We should have pho made by a cooker who knows how to make it. Sorry, dad.”

My son, the picky epicurean. Whatevs. I say the Swedish meatballs from Ikea were yum!!!