This is why I don’t cook:
me: hey what exactly do i need to get at the grocery storehow many steaks = tartare?and did we get 1 duck last time?what goes into a duck?L: hmmmmm, welli would say .5 lbs of steakme: what does that meanlike how many steaks is thatL: half a poundme: i know but likeme: you know i’ve like never been to a grocery store righti don’t know how to read lbs/ozi go by how many steaks do i buyL: um. it depends which cut of meat you getme: so what cut of meat should i getLuke: half a filet is much much less than half a porterhouseme: ok……Luke: let me thinkme: so which do i need to get?L: i’ve got a good planwhy don’t you pick up the duck, and I will pick up the beef
Here’s what roommate K had to say about me after this exchange: “I thought we both equally clueless when it comes to cooking, but more accurately I have the cooking ability of a child with downs syndrome, while you have the cooking ability of an aborted fetus.”
Anyway, after all that, I ended up being confused for like a full hour at Food Emporium with roommate L holding my hand over the phone — it took me like 20 minutes to find the steaks, another 20 minutes to find a breast of duck, and another 20 minutes to find capers, eggs and shallots. I mean what the fuck are shallots.
It was all worth it though — here’s the ugly duckling I found:
Rare Duck
Here’s the beauuuutiful swan roommate L transformed it into:
Perfection
GASPPPPPPP DERICIOUSSSS LITTLE DUCKRINGGGSSSSSSSSSSSSS
Poverexic in NYC 