So I don’t care about football. At all. I’ve been known to refer to a certain Sunday as “the Stupid Bowl.” The Puppy Bowl, on the other hand, is a delight in the wasteland of cable TV. My friends say that fuzzy baby animals are my kryptonite, and I can’t really argue. I have a tendency to dissolve into uncontrollable gibberish. It’s pretty disgusting.
The chicken wings I made for yesterday’s Super/Stupid/Puppy Bowl party, however? Not disgusting at all. (See what I did there?)
Back when I was a wee ‘un, just old enough to be a help in the kitchen rather than an underfoot pest, the very first thing my mother taught me to do was make salad dressing. More specifically, she handed me a bottle of olive oil, a bottle of vinegar, and a spoonful of mustard, and said, “Mix these, please.” So I did, and the rest is…well, you know.
Making vinaigrette was my introduction to home cooking, and it’s still one of my favorite things to do. Homemade vinaigrettes are mind-bogglingly quick, impossible to screw up, and way more flavorful than anything that comes from a bottle. Salads are also a fantastic way to practice being creative in the kitchen. I could write volumes about this stuff. In fact, I’m about to, so bear with me.