So, apparently life is an endless stream of wonder and amazement. And that's without having taken any prescription-grade narcotics (that I know of. I haven't been brace enough yet to try and figure out what Dunkin Donuts uses to make their vaguely-egg-shaped-disc-and-cheese-substitute breakfast sandwich). Because I'm traveling. Again. Apparently I was able to use all of the points that I racked up on my credit card from my previous travels, and use them to subsidize even more traveling. And since I'm, in essence, a shiftless hobo who works nonsense jobs to help fund a life of creative endeavors and whatnot, time off wasn't hard to come by.
So I'm off to travel the world, see new sights, drink new drinks, fall in love, and have a tragic fairytale romance that ends in in killer-bee attack. And that's just what I have planned for my 3-hour layover at the Frankfurt airport. And, as is the long-established tradition of my traveling, I'm here to promise you that I'll sample in local cultures, cuisines, customs, and happy-hours, and bring them back to all of you people, stuck at home. This of course, is a dirty lie. History has shown time and time again that while I may intend to make good on these promises, I likely won't, or at least won't regularly, due to unforseen factors like sporadic internet access, malfunctioning apps, and forgetting to. So I can't say I'll post regular updates (well, I can. Technically speaking I may have already promised it like 3 sentences ago. But I'm hedging, so bear with me), I do intend to post some stuff. So check back in if you get the chance, and I'll do the same. And in any event, I'll be back in 2 weeks. One thing I can say for sure is steer clear of the Frankfort airport for a couple days. Those bees hold a grudge.
March 6, 2017
|Welcome to the exciting, fast-paced world of eating way too |
much dairy. Currently unincorporated
½ gallon Milk
½ lb. Pasta (traditionally, growing up, my family was fairly specific about the pasta used. Upon growing up I've come to realize that it doesn't really matter, and my mother won't actually barge into my apartment and stop me from using the “wrong noodles.” Because I won't buzz her up.)
1.5 TBSP Butter
The first thing you're gonna need to do is channel your inner poor immigrant of vaguely eastern-European descent. Got it? Cool, let’s get started. The name Lokshen Milk, loosely translated, means noodle milk. Which sounds super gross, especially given the propensity these days for weird alternative forms of milk. But what it actually is, essentially, is a soup. Maybe even a stew, depending on the proportions of the ingredients (which I guess is technically true of most things), but I'm gonna play it safe and stick with the soup version. Anyhow, take your pasta and throw it in some boiling water until it's al dente (a curious Italian phrase I may have mocked at one time or another, that means “to the tooth.” Which essentially means that it [the pasta] is cooked, but still offers resistance when bitten. Like a sleeping person on a beach).
|It looks exactly like what it is. A bowl full of milk and pasta.|
It tastes awesome though.