I am sure that little bag gets left in more than you know. This is why James Beard's cookbook includes a not inconsiderable passage on how to boil water.
I recall once long ago buying a pizza, then deciding to have dinner later, and some hours hence tossed the box back into the oven, thinking I had put it on "warm." Only I had somehow put it on about 350 (maybe it was that last beer), went off to take care of one thing or another. When I came back and took it out, the little plastic thingie they put in the center for reasons I have never been able to divine had melted into a gooey blob in the middle of the pizza.
And how is my little eunuch this morning?
This sounds like one of those dealies where you are intolerably smug over your little coody grass of yesterday, I attempt to ignore it and forge on to other things in a discreet and tasteful manner, and you proceed to jump up and down waving your arms as if you are performing semaphore while having to go to the bathroom, in this case insisting that I acknowledge publicly your chortling aspersions cast upon my masculinity.
[Deep, world-weary sigh of forbearance] Okay, okay, inamorato, castrato, very very good my dear penni. Wouldn't have missed it for anything. |
