OK, first I want to say that I don't cook. I've lived alone most of my life and if I'm hungry, I usually get takeout, or heat up a can of Progresso Chickarina. Or even Spaghetti-Os.
Thus, when BF moved in and began buying knives and cutting boards and spices, it was very surreal. But I figured if he wanted to do the cooking, have at it.
But then he bought this terra cotta...thing...I don't know what you would call it. It's a clay dome, basically. I was admittedly perplexed.
It's a garlic cooker, or roaster…something like that. I'm sure there is a real name for what it is but basically you stick whole garlic cloves in there and cook on high heat for about an hour.
BF had purchased a nice bruschetta and a bottle of Chianti to complete the meal. But once I had the garlic, it was all over.
I never realized this...but eating the garlic was so sensual…even sexual. I mean even the uncooked garlic clove looks a bit like a ball sack, right?
BF showed me a couple of ways to eat the roasted garlic. You can peel just a bit from the tip of the clove and squeeze it out, kind of like peeling back the foreskin and jerking off an uncircumcised cock. Or you can peel back the entire casing all at once and stick the whole thing in your mouth until the clove bursts with a creamy goodness, kind of like blowing a guy and swallowing.
The second time boyfriend bought some garlic to roast. I was ready. Boy was I ready. Finally, it was done. I ate the ENTIRE clove of garlic by itself. Some I squeezed out, and some I peeled all the way.
When I was done I was EXTREMELY hot for my BF’s own garlicky goodness. But BF couldn’t get over the smell of garlic; garlic and more garlic, emanating from ever pore of my skin. He couldn’t come near me without throwing up a little in his mouth.
The smell was so bad that he couldn’t sleep next to me even using his pillow as an air filter; plus the not-being-able-to-breathe part also posed a problem. No, we couldn’t have the world’s first death by garlic. So I took a long, scalding hot shower and scrubbed my skin raw. Even then he still thought I smelled like an Italian restaurant.
I felt really bad until BF told me that his next kitchen purchase would be a rolling pin.
Thus, when BF moved in and began buying knives and cutting boards and spices, it was very surreal. But I figured if he wanted to do the cooking, have at it.
But then he bought this terra cotta...thing...I don't know what you would call it. It's a clay dome, basically. I was admittedly perplexed.
It's a garlic cooker, or roaster…something like that. I'm sure there is a real name for what it is but basically you stick whole garlic cloves in there and cook on high heat for about an hour.
BF had purchased a nice bruschetta and a bottle of Chianti to complete the meal. But once I had the garlic, it was all over.
I never realized this...but eating the garlic was so sensual…even sexual. I mean even the uncooked garlic clove looks a bit like a ball sack, right?
BF showed me a couple of ways to eat the roasted garlic. You can peel just a bit from the tip of the clove and squeeze it out, kind of like peeling back the foreskin and jerking off an uncircumcised cock. Or you can peel back the entire casing all at once and stick the whole thing in your mouth until the clove bursts with a creamy goodness, kind of like blowing a guy and swallowing.
The second time boyfriend bought some garlic to roast. I was ready. Boy was I ready. Finally, it was done. I ate the ENTIRE clove of garlic by itself. Some I squeezed out, and some I peeled all the way.
When I was done I was EXTREMELY hot for my BF’s own garlicky goodness. But BF couldn’t get over the smell of garlic; garlic and more garlic, emanating from ever pore of my skin. He couldn’t come near me without throwing up a little in his mouth.
The smell was so bad that he couldn’t sleep next to me even using his pillow as an air filter; plus the not-being-able-to-breathe part also posed a problem. No, we couldn’t have the world’s first death by garlic. So I took a long, scalding hot shower and scrubbed my skin raw. Even then he still thought I smelled like an Italian restaurant.
I felt really bad until BF told me that his next kitchen purchase would be a rolling pin.
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