Drinking should always be a top priority. Before I even unpacked my groceries, I had opened my wine. That, friends, is commitment.
The wine I chose was a Syrah from Columbia Valley. It was a gorgeous deep purple color. Almost black, even. Thick and opaque like obsidian, with a beautiful translucent ring of violet right at the surface. It was lush and velvety. So velvety, in fact, that I nearly downed my entire first glass without realizing it. So smooooooth.
One glass of wine in seems like a prime time to commit to making some food. Wait any longer, and you may forget to eat. Start too early, and you may forget to enjoy yourself. It’s important to have balance in your life.
And so I moved on to making some food.
And by that I mean BACON.
There I was, in the grocery store. I had just returned from a business trip that morning (6am flight) and had struggled through as much of the day at the office as I could muster. I got home around 4pm and nearly resigned myself to eating whatever crappy/old food I had in my fridge before I decided that, goddamnit, I have EARNED a delicious meal.
And so I went shopping.
And I bought bacon.
It seemed only right.
With a second glass of wine in front of me, I tenderly wrapped some boneless chicken thighs in strips of bacon. I nestled them in a pan together and seasoned them well. I slid the pan into the oven with care, and almost decided to say “fuck it” to the kale I bought.
But then I drank another glass of wine and decided, in my pre-drunk state of heightened awareness, that greens are healthy and I should eat them. Again, balance. It’s important.
So I made kale while bacon-chicken smells wafted through my apartment. I felt like I was absorbing the smells with my body, causing me to relax and feel content. (I had also had half a bottle of red wine. This may have contributed to my relaxed state of being. Whatever.)
After what seemed only a brief period of time punctuated by much wine-drinking, the chicken thighs were done.
THEY WERE MAGICAL.
Bacon. Chicken. Together. It was as if a beautiful love story was unfolding in my kitchen. Finally, after years of being apart, the bacon and chicken finally reunited. They were perfect for one another. Such chemistry. Such compassion.
I nearly shed a tear for them.
But instead, I proceeded to drown myself in more wine and attack the thighs viciously as if I hadn’t been fed in days.
Commitment. Am I right?
No. I’m just a savage.
To be fair, I ate with utensils and not my fingers. Also I ate kale!
So maybe I’m not totally a savage.
Also I’m drunk and can’t figure out how to end this post, so here is a photo I stole of some chicken wrapped in bacon:
[Next time, on Christina’s Drunk Adventures: WINTER BEER. Oh yes. Oh yes yes yes.]