“If you need me to tell you how to do this part, please turn off your stove and walk away. Seek an adult”
If you need a tiny cup of ranch, Frank’s Red Hot, or honey mustard… You might be a saucer. If you can’t make a steak, chicken, or any other food without salt & pepper (Montreal, Creole, bacon seasoning)… You might be a spicer.
This goes far beyond the battle of the sexes, the rich vs the poor, the young vs the old. It’s SAUCERS VS SPICERS.
My wife is a saucer. Her whole family is made up of saucers. At first I didn’t understand. With every meal a tiny dose of liquid spicery or au jus must be present. Chicken gets a tiny tub of ranch or barbecue. She calls this “flavor” and don’t get me wrong, I like it. The problem is…I am a spicer. I love that little kick, the dash of gusto before whatever I’m eating gets cooked or broiled before the inevitable hoover maneuver.
I have to say, she’s enriched my life and palette with these dressings… These little cups of liquid joy. The honey mustard, the butter infused Shake & Bake (she took a spice and made it a sauce! Brilliant!), the Hollandaise, the Béchamel…
Where was I going with this? I’m not sure…Oh right… If a saucer and a spicer can live happily together, can’t everybody else?
Baseball and watch pierogis run footraces.