I seriously believe Makhani sauce is the best stuff you can eat on this planet. But it is incredibly hard to make. At least, that’s been my impression to date. I spent an afternoon constructing something verbatum from some website, and it sucked so bad I tossed the entire batch.
So I’m done trying to make it. Anyone know where I can buy a TUB of the stuff??
Ingredients:
1 chicken, cut into 8 pieces, or whatever bone-in chicken you have laying around
1 bottle of your favorite BBQ sauce
———-
Start the grill.
Dump the bottle of sauce in a pot. Fill the bottle with water, shake it up, pour into the pot.
When it’s boiling, add the chicken. Cook for 20-25 minutes or sostirring occasionally, until the chicken starts to fall of the bone a little.
Throw the chicken on the cooler side of the grill, if you can do indirect heat, otherwise make sure the grill is on low. You don’t want it to stick.
Brush some of the sauce on the chicken and cover. Wait a bit, brush more sauce on, wash, rinse, repeat until there’s like 1/4 of the original sauce left in the pot, and the chicken has some nice chariness/crispiness to it.
Throw the chicken back in the pot to coat w/the sauce and serve.
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She’s the only one on the field without an “uh” sound at the end of her name. The coaches are playing with them in a little scrimmage, and they keep kicking the balls at the girls.
I saw Eli playing with toy guys today-Batman, Frodo, the Mask. I glimpsed him doing it in the front room, in our CA cottage. Probably the last time I’ll ever see it. There is nothing more magical than watching your son play with toy guys; the way their hands and fingers connect with the toy and animate it. I’ll write a book about it someday.
So I think our DMA grads could be better suited to pursue IP law than any other program’s grads in the country.
I often think of Picasso’s famous quote, “Art is the sum of my destructions”. I’ve always gotten that. Whenever I make art, I feel like the second I’m close to that perfect line, shade, shape or texture, there’s all this pressure that I’m gonna fuck up.
When that happens, I imagine a little Picasso sitting on my shoulder, going “So why not fuck up royally?” And I give in. It’s easy, freeing, and I embrace the fuckup. I slash the pen, gouge the surface, rip it all up.
It never quite works, though. More often than not, I end up with a pile of mess. I chastise myself for wasting my time, paint, paper, canvas. I feel like a failure in little Picasso’s eyes. “You didn’t fuck up hard enough” I can hear him saying.
The little voice is easy to dismiss. Of course I can make something nice. Not destroy it. Nurture it, coax it along in its lousy, spineless, eager-to-please formulaic predictability. Eventually I’ll end up with something having at least a few people gazing, stoking my ego-fires.
But the best stuff I’ve always made happens when I give in. The only way to find that thing, the thing I want to leave behind, is to fuck up. Intentionally. Destroy that clean line, that perfect texture, that awesome font. Force myself to do it again, but better this time. And being aware of my doing it.