So I still can't stay away from the pepperoni. Turns out fourteen ounces is quite a lot, actually, especially when one's husband is unenthusiastic about the cured meats. Remember that episode of Seinfeld wherein George wants to eat pastrami sandwiches while making love?
Yeah, I'm not into that, sicko. But I could seriously eat pepperoni every OTHER moment of the day.
Luckily, that's not the only culinary activity in my world. So you remember back in March, when Josh went to Korea and brought back the stomach plague? Yeah, that was ugly. And unfortunately, he got sick just after eating a bunch of delicious 'welcome home' treats I've made, foods which he now associates with projectile vomiting and other unpleasantness. Cream cheese has no place in our home anymore, likewise marinated artichokes and fifteen-bean stew. So I'm trying to ease such things back into our diets.
So this week before Pepperoni-stravaganza, I cooked up a pot of gorgeous pink and black beans I'd found in Narita, when we went for the Taiko festival. Aren't they gorgeous?
I served them with a little butter, salt, and pepper, and with lots of veggies on the side. Yum!
Well, yuck, actually: turns out plain beans are not that appealing to Josh, or to me, really. But mashed up with salsa and some cheddar melted on top, those beauts tasted just fine. Stew is still off the menu, but beans are back! I wonder how they'd taste with pepperoni?