After a little semi-scientific inquiry I've come to the conclusion that Tanzanian food just makes me sick. While I'm still far from proving with any statistical significance that this a causal relationship, there is certainly a strong correlation between the two. As such, I've been attempting to avoid Tanzanian food, which means mooching off the fruits of other's cooking talents--and I've been pretty successful so far! On Tuesday night I went over to the Belgium house for homemade pasta sauce. The highlight of the evening was probably the twenty minute struggle to open the bottle of Tall Horse (South African wine). My inexperience--or the uselessness of anything in a Tanzanian kitchen--was glaringly obvious when I broke the corkscrew. The metal literally broke off into the cork and a battle of physics and strength ensued.
Last night, after a mind-numbing day of spreadsheet malfunctioning and reimbursement receipts for the Workshop students, the last thing I wanted was vegetable curry at SUASA. Although impossible, Chipotle sounded pretty darn perfect. B's soup was a good alternative. B and T-Man and I were having a little party in the kitchen...B working on her soup, me working on the cake. Mom would have been proud of the Lucinda Williams playing off my laptop.
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