Irish Stew - *HOME ENTRY*

It’s been awhile since I did a home entry, hasn’t it?

It’s November, which means that Southern California will get bouts of cold weather in between bouts of really hot weather. And when I say ‘cold’, I mean about 60 - 65 degrees. If you’ve lived here long enough, 60-65 degrees entails falling in love with your sweatshirts (which is honestly the only form of a ‘winter coat’ I have) and eating soup again (ha! I first typed ‘soap’ which spell check wouldn’t have caught and would make you wonder how much of the sun has gotten to my brian. Ha! ‘brain’). All last week it was ‘cold’ (and I’m using quotes to repel nasty comments from my WI readers) so while I was sitting snuggly in my sweatshirt, I thought about making soap (!! SOUP !!) or stew for my new thing this weekend.

After perusing around Allrecipes.com I finally decided on a nice Irish lamb stew because I’ve never cooked lamb before and in fact, I had no idea what it looked like before it was cooked. I know what it looks like when it’s on the big spindle at Greek restaurants and I certainly know what it looks like before it’s dinner, but not raw. By the way, I’m sorry vegetarians. If it’s any consolation, I always manage to convince myself that the lamb I’m eating looks like this:



And not like this:


Please don't eat me.

Basically I like to think of my lamb as Phil Spector, not Mary had a little.



Anyhow, when I first printed out the recipe, I failed to notice that it called for 6 POUNDS of lamb. I think the recipe was under the assumption that I either had my own lamb in the backyard and/or I was attempting to feed 17 children. I obviously cut the recipe in half but still felt a bit awkward asking the butcher at Ralph’s for the 3 pounds and certainly felt that I should of cut the recipe into fourths since it’s only Kevin and me. However, my measurement skillz (with a ‘Z’!) have always been poor (I cringe when they pick that subject in ‘Are you Smarter than a 5th Grader?’ because I will always get the question wrong) and didn’t know if ¼ a teaspoon of thyme would equate to more than me waving the thyme container over the bowl and hope it got the essence of it, so I just halved it.

Here are the ingredients. It’s too long to list so I won’t:



Strange thing about this recipe is that it called for a pound of bacon. First of all, I don’t remember ever having Irish stew that had bacon in it and secondly, I just realized that I never halved the bacon like I did everything else. Seriously, that just occurred to me right now. Oh man, no WONDER why there seems to be as much bacon as there is lamb.


Homer Simpson would be proud.

Anyhow, so I cooked a heart attack’s worth of bacon while Kevin cut up the lamb. We rolled the lamb in some flour (that would be a great line if the lamb was still alive) and browned it in the bacon fat. Added the bacon and lamb to the crock pot and added the beef stock, onions, and garlic. Set the crock pot on high and let cook for an hour and a half.



While that was cooking, I cut up the potatoes and the rest of the onions. I cheated and bought the pre-cut carrots because sometimes I don’t mind paying 27 cents extra to make up for my laziness. I then aligned all the ingredients on the counter so I could give you my Martha Stewart money shot.



After about 45 minutes, I went to check on the stew. It didn’t appear to be simmering like the recipe said that it should. I reviewed the recipe closer only to realize that it said to use a S-tock pot, not a C-rock pot. I think I was so excited to use the crock pot again that my eyes saw ‘ock’ and went for it. This mistake meant that I had to transfer the contents from the crock pot to the stock pot (which in our house we simply refer to as the “big ass pot…you know, for the chili”) and try to boil it instead of simmer to make up some time. Kevin told me there is no ‘making up time’ in cooking, but I didn’t believe him and boiled away.


From Crock pot to Stock pot

Now’s a good time to mention that when Kevin and I cook and there’s some sort of boiling/simmering action going on, we will have a silent flame war. This is something I’ve never mentioned but always noticed….I’ll set the stovetop to around 3, let’s say, because I want it to simmer. I will then walk away to do something else -adjust the volume on the TV, smoke a cigarette, get a glass of water, whatever - and when I come back, Kevin will have turned the knob to 1. He will have walked away by this point, so I’ll put it back to 4…one more to make up for the 1 he had it in. Later, he’ll come by and set it back to 1, so on and so forth until it’s either done or he will exclaim, “do you really want this to boil?”

…which is exactly what happened with the stew. And because the stew took 2 hours to cook, it happened a lot. Regardless, the stew turned out perfectly. It was a bit strong in the lamb flavor the first day, but by the 2nd day it was great.



Oh! I forgot to mention that I added the potatoes, carrots, and onions after awhile, but I’m guessing you figured that out, huh?

IN OTHER NEWS….

I wanted to give a couple of shout outs since I’m here. First, I wanted to say hello to Bux who was gracious enough to bless us with his presence Monday night. It had been about 3 years since I’ve seen him last. With all good friends the conversation and laughing were easy and made 3 years seem like 3 days. He’s also engaged now, which is awesome, because he deserves to be happy. And just between all of us, I really have no recollection of making him buy shoes for a night in LA those many years ago. Not saying it didn’t happen, I just don’t remember it. Thanks Bux! You are always welcome at the Casa de Costa Mesa.

To Bethhead I'd like to say thank you for the awesome knife! Kevin and I realized it was the sharpest knife in our current knife arsenal and were very pleased to have it around.

Last, but not least, I wanted to say hello to my dad who celebrated his birthday this last Sunday. When I spoke to my dad, he was in a Packer bar with the rest of my family watching (what else?) the Packers and….doing Jell-O shots. He made a claim that the Jell-O was going to be good for his fingernails. I think he forgot that Jell-O isn’t good for your fingernails; it’s just MADE of fingernails. I love him regardless. Happy Birthday Dad!

Watching Gigli so you don't have to. *HOME ENTRY*

Seriously, the sacrifices I make for you all sometimes. OK, this is probably the only sacrifice I’ve made, but man, you people owe me. Or maybe just Bethhead owes me as she is the one who suggested (as a new thing to do) “Rent some really bad movies you haven't seen yet.” So I did.



I gave the selection of a ‘really bad movie’ some serious thought. I even polled a few people at work. I obviously knew horror movies would be out because that’s just too damn easy, the same goes for westerns and musicals. If I had run into Jill earlier in the week, I might have changed my mind and went for her suggestion of ‘Ishtar’. I wish I ran into Jill earlier because if I had, I would have seen a really bad movie with Dustin Hoffman running around in the desert rather than the debacle of J-Lo and Affleck doing…well, I STILL have no idea what they were doing, in ‘Gigli’.

We all know ‘Gigli’ was a bad movie. You didn’t even have to see ‘Gigli’ to know it was bad. I decided to watch it to see just HOW bad it was. I wasn’t disappointed.


Funny, that's the exact look I had when watching this movie.

I started watching the movie at about 4:30 on a workday afternoon. I had my bottle of wine (which, consequentially, was also horrible, so it fit the mood) and the remote. The only thing I knew about ‘Gigli’ prior to watching the movie was that J-Lo played a lesbian who was won over straight by the charms of Mr. Affleck. God, just that premise is horrible. What studio exec let this one pass under the radar?

Anyhow, the opening shot is of Affleck, a.k.a. Larry Gigli, threatening a small little man for the money that’s owed his boss by throwing said little man in a laundry machine. It’s actually a decent first shot which makes me think that this movie doesn’t seem so bad so far. I also note that Affleck is putting on a bad Brooklyn accent and the small little man also has one - which can only mean that we’re in New York.


First scene, not so bad. What the hell happened?

But we’re not in New York. We’re in L.A. But this doesn’t stop every. single. one. of. the. characters. from speaking in a New York accent. What is this suppose to be? A New York mob in L.A.? Too much pasta from the Old Spaghetti Factory on Sunset? Fine. For the sake of giving this movie a chance, I’ll let it slide.

Oh, and we learn right away ‘Gigli’ is pronounced like ‘Really’ but with a ‘G’. Now you know.

So the plot, what little there is of it, goes like this: Affleck keeps screwing up but he’s giving a last chance by his boss by kidnapping an autistic boy who happens to be the brother of a guy who his boss is trying to extort. (deep breath) J-Lo is also hired on to keep an eye on Affleck and the autistic boy. J-Lo is gay. Affleck is a macho asshole. J-Lo and Affleck hate each other at first, grow affections for each other later (and for autistic boy), then run away somewhere after they completely botch the job that they’re suppose to do. Or something.



I’d really like to give this movie some credit but I can’t. The accents are horrible. The whole idea that a full out lesbian (not ‘I’m going to experiment in college lesbian’) would just drop the whole thing and say “you’re such a macho asshole, you must be the one guy I’d really enjoy…THAT way.” Even the autistic boy keeps getting less autistic as the movie goes on. I truly thought that they might have a plot twist and say he was actually a normal kid trying to pull one over on Affleck or something. But you know what really Really REALLY ticked me off about this movie? It was the guest appearances of Christopher Walken and Al Pacino. They had the best performances of the entire movie but it made me mad that they were there because once their scenes were over, I was back to watching crap.


"See? I'm reading. I must be a lesbian. But just until you macho Italian me over."

It took me over two hours to watch this movie. I kept pausing it to take cigarette breaks, or to refill my wine, or just for a fucking break of awfulness (i.e. all the rolling of my eyes started giving me a headache).


Biggest tool in the shed.

I watched ‘Gigli’ so you don’t have to. You’re welcome.

Being Slovenian *Home Entry*

I’m an American. And as an American fitting into the stereotype the rest of the world has of me, I’m fat, I’m loud, I’m a bona fide Bush lover*, I’m overly friendly while working in retail, I refuse to speak French, I brag about where I’ve been in the world, I can tell you how much anything I own cost (with pleasure), I drive a SUV, I support the sending in of troops to help out with the ‘situation’, I owe too many credit cards, and when asked, “Where are you from?” and I assume they don’t mean what state in the United of, I will gleefully rattle off the random percentages I hold in my ‘blood line’. I’m an American, and according to the world, this is what I do.

Those who know me will know what above I fit into the stereotype of, but to the rest I will only admit one thing. I DO rattle of percentages of heritages when asked where I’m from…when talking to other Americans who are specifically asking that question. I’m not stupid enough to tell that to people from other countries. When they ask, I tell them, “I’m Canadian and damn proud. Go Canucks!”

Ha.

Anyhow, since this entry is titled ‘Being Slovenian’ you might have guessed that I am (when talking to other Americans that is) part Slovenian. 50% if you must know, from my father’s side, whose parents came to the great US of A when they were kids. (That is obnoxious rattling that off, isn’t it?) There aren’t many Slovenian traditions that were ever practiced in my family except for the frequent jokes substituting ‘Polish’ for ‘Slovenian’. (i.e. How do you stop the Slovenian Army? Turn off the carousel) but I did grow up learning three very important words:

• Dober dan = Good Day
• Hvala lepa = Thank You
• This one is going to be purely phonetic as no online translator knows what the hell I mean. Got-chey = Underpants

Okay, maybe they weren’t that important, but dober dan sounds really cool when you want to insult someone without really insulting someone but seeming like you are.

I recently found a blog from a guy who is from New York but married a girl from Slovenia and moved there. It’s a great blog, and he had an entry all about making borovnica (blueberry schnapps) which you must know made me instantly intrigued. “I can do that!” I said. Unfortunately it’s a time consuming thing to do new this weekend, so in the interim, I also made Koroška Šarkel, a type of sweet bread.

I started on the borovnica first.



Following the instructions on the blog (which, in hindsight, didn’t provide any specifications of time) I started off cleaning the blueberries, soaking them in some water, than layering them in a glass jar with some sugar. I placed the jar out in the sun and 15 minutes later checked on it to see if the sugar had melted.


Please enjoy the hummingbird getting his own sugar in this picture.

It didn’t – at all. I knew I was in for a long wait.

So….I started on the Koroška Šarkel.



The Koroška Šarkel was pretty easy to make. Prepare the yeast, make the dough, add the raisins, roll, and then bake.



As all my kitchen adventures are wont to do, it wasn’t perfect. My dough never really rose all that much. The recipe was in metric and my conversion from grams to teaspoons\cups wasn’t perfect (damn metric system!). Also, I completely forgot to add the butter.



The bread was really heavy, but it was edible. The best was when it was warm from the oven with a bit of butter. We were able to eat it for about 3 days before it turned into solid rock.



Meanwhile, outside….

DAMMIT! Melt already, melt already!


So close....

The blueberry\sugar mix took a full week of 90 degree weather before the sugar was completely dissolved. I finally brought it inside and added the most important ingredient, the slivovitz. I thankfully live right next store to Orange County’s biggest liquor store and they not only had 1 type of slivovitz, they had 20 types of slivovitz. Wanting to be as close to the real thing as possible, I got the Croatian Creation (I swear to God, that is what is on the label) and added it to my blueberry …uh, juice.

I then stuck it in the refrigerator to stew…cook…melt…whatever. I haven’t touched it since then. I’m honestly a little bit afraid.



“Ooooooh Keeeeevin!”

*I can’t tell you how hard that part was to write. I threw up a little bit.

Birthday BBQ - Home Entry

Since today is my birthday, I figured now would be a good time to write about my birthday BBQ last Saturday. While technically a stretch of the ‘new thing this weekend’ (as I have had a BD BBQ before though not technically held one for myself) it is my birthday and frankly, I can do whatever the hell I want to. Or not want to…which today is not going to work. Hee.

I had decided to have this BD BBQ the Saturday before I held it. It was just one of those ideas that popped in my head. Unfortunately this meant that during the week while I mentioned it and it actually happened I stressed and stressed that no one would show up. I’m goofy that way and always doubt my popularity or lack there of. I need not have worried (as Kevin told me over and over again) as the perfect amount of people did indeed show up and they were all some of my favorite people too. Even Patrick and Michele stopped by before the BBQ started even though they had to run off due to a prior engagement with the Police (the band silly).

I don’t know if there is too much to tell about the BBQ itself. We talked, we laughed, we drank, we had grilled pesto chicken and brats. And everyone brought me gifts! I wasn’t expecting any gifts but it was awesome. I got lottery tickets, a gift card, a poker set, a great bottle of wine, and two of the coolest lighters I have ever seen. I did realize that our back patio isn’t quite as big as I thought it was, but it was ok. I had a great time and I hope everyone else did as well. With that, here are the pictures.

Cousin Sean and Roland

Squishy

Andrea and Jill

Gunter and Mari

Dave showing us how to tie a tie using a cat toy.




I’m leaving for my mini vacation tomorrow…more on that later.

What I love about this picture is the fact that I obviously found whatever it was a heck of a lot funnier than everyone else.

Pineapple Upside Down Cake - *Home Entry*

Yeah, so…I had all these big plans to go to the Duck-A-Thon in Huntington Beach but neither Kevin or myself was feeling active enough to get out of our pajamas on Sunday, so I’m afraid you are left with a home entry. And it’s going to be a short entry at that as it was so damn easy. I will make it up to next week as Bethhead is coming to town and we have a lot of things planned.

SO YES! Pineapple Upside-down Cake! As you have probably noticed, there are a lot of normal everyday things that I have never tried. Pineapple upside-down cake is definitely on that list. I often wonder why over the course of my 32 years that I never happened to run across these everyday things. Have most of you tasted a pineapple upside-down cake, or a soufflé for that matter? Growing up, my family certainly was into trying new recipes. Ask my sister about hamburger pie. Go on, I dare you. Maybe it was the fact that pineapple upside-down cake and soufflé in their minds was so ordinary that doing odd recipes was exciting. They never took into account that odd recipes are now what I consider normal. Did anyone else grow up with cheesecake cupcakes or salisbury bougniogn (that’s so French I’m not even going to apologize for misspelling it)?

Don’t ask me how I decided on pineapple upside-down cake. I think it might have to do with the fact that pineapple upside-down cake is fun to say, like spatula and platypus are. Maybe it’s because it’s a really pretty looking cake. I don’t know about the reason but I do know that I’m going to make it again. It’s really good, especially if you aren’t usually that into sweets. Like Kevin. I’m going to side step for a quick second to tell you about an ongoing repeated conversation Kevin and I have. If I bring up donuts, either in the fact that I’m in the mood for one or that they were brought into work that day, Kevin will always always say, “I don’t like donuts.” And I will always always respond, “You don’t like donuts or you don’t like EATING donuts?” (-in reference to ones waist line) Kevin will usually shut up for a couple seconds, get a bit annoyed, and repeat that he doesn’t like donuts. But I can testify in front of a high court that I have seen him eating a donut on more than one occasion without a gun pointed to his head.

SO YES! Onto the cake!

I got this recipe from AllRecipes.com. Most of the recipes for pineapple upside-down cake involved using a skillet. Because I’m lazy modern in my cooking style, I decided that not only would I forego the skillet, I was also going to use a cake mix instead of hauling out the cake flour and such.

Just to show you how easy this was, I’m going to write out the recipe.

1. Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Make sure all live animals are out of the oven at this time.
   
2. Butter both cake pans and put a ¼ cup of brown sugar sprinkled over each one. Try not to sing Echo and the Bunnymen’s ‘Lips like Sugar’ when this is done or else you’ll have it in your head all night.





3. Add pineapple slices and cherries to one pan, and crushed pineapple to the other. Oh! And save the juice from the pineapple can. I guess I should have mentioned that sooner before you drained the juice down the sink, huh?
   
   
   
   
4. Make the cake mix as directed on the box. Substitute some of the water with the pineapple juice. Marvel at the Spanish directions on the other side and convince yourself that you could totally read it. Then look at the other side and realize one of the only words you got right was huevos.
   
5. Pour batter evenly into each pan. It’s ok if some of the batter makes it to your mouth.
   
   
   
   
6. Bake for 40-50 minutes, or until a toothpick (non-used preferably) comes out clean.
   
   
   
   
7. Cool for 20 minutes (the cake, not you).
   
8. Dump out cake…nicely…on top of each other so that the pineapple is looking up.
   
   
   
9. Eat. Yum.

T-Shirt Making & Brunch at the Alley

Hello and happy middle of the week at the end of April in the first few months of the year! Yeah, I know…odd way to start but I was stressed for an entry opener. That’s quite literally what fell out of my head.

I finally got around to making a t-shirt as the winning entry from my New This Weekend contest. I am sad to say that it didn’t go exactly as I had planned and because of that, I felt it necessary to include another new thing I did this weekend. It’s a double post. Woo!

Anyhow, on Sunday morning I set up my supplies outside. I had my t-shirt, wax paper, exact-o knife, markers, iron (inside), and lastly, paint. I even had a big piece of tile to lie the wax paper flat on so that when I started cutting, it wouldn’t scratch the new patio table Kevin just bought us. I put the design down, taped it to the tile, and then put the wax paper on top of the design for easy tracing.


Tracing Not Optional.

Like the design? I got that off the web though I don’t remember where. I just wanted to put that out there so no one thinks I did it myself and am trying to pass it off as my own. It’s probably a company logo or something. I just thought it was funny. Chicken with iPod. Hyst-TER-ical. (wee!)

So anyhow, I started tracing with a pencil and realized immediately that I was screwed. Essentially, I didn’t read the instructions well enough and got wax paper instead of FREEZER paper. I didn’t know that there was a difference. To those out there who didn’t know there was a difference either, let me enlighten you. What am I here for but to make the mistakes so you don’t have to?

• Wax Paper: Wax paper is tissue paper that’s been coated with paraffin on both sides, making it resistant (but not impervious) to grease and moisture. Wax paper is easily compromised by liquid, it is prone to tearing, and it is not heatproof (the wax begins to melt at relatively low temperatures).
  
• Freezer (Parchment) Paper: Parchment is effectively teflon coated (on one side). It can withstand high temperature heat. According to the Orb (Internet), it is usually best to use parchment paper over wax paper in most situations.

In layman terms, I couldn’t trace anything because pencil lead and marker will not write on wax. I am grateful that they don’t write on wax because if I had forged ahead I would have ended up having to buy a new iron as the wax would have ruined it. Whew! If there’s anything this blog is teaching me, it’s not to forge ahead and use my brain for a moment or two.

Free hand sucks.

Without the stencil I was forced to free hand it. Thankfully the fabric markers turned out to be relatively easy to use and I was quite pleased with the results.

…until I decided that it looked a little boring and that I should frame the design with the 3-D fabric paint I got.

Maybe I got overconfident. Maybe I my hand slipped a bit. Regardless, I ended up with a t-shirt that at first looked like I might have bought it to a t-shirt a 4-year old could make.

Sigh.

After the framing mishap, I was done. I put the t-shirt on the dishwasher to dry and got myself ready for brunch; which is the 2nd new thing I did this weekend.

The Alley, Newport Beach

Well, not brunch….I’ve certainly done brunch before. And the Alley where we went for brunch? Yep, I’ve been there before too. But I’ve never had brunch AT the Alley. And really, it was kind of crap.

Jeff had to point out that my meal looked like boobs.

I shouldn’t say that brunch at the Alley was crap. It just wasn’t as good as other places I’ve been to for brunch. For example, the never ending Mimosas were $8.50 per person. The Village Inn (not the chain, but the little hole in the wall on Balboa Island) only charges $3.00 per person and Woody’s Wharf doesn’t charge at all (they make it up on their food prices). The brunch choices in the breakfast area were minimal, and not very good. Both Kevin and Jeff were disappointed in their lunch choices as well. We did enjoy hanging out on the patio of the Alley to make our $8.50 worth it. The waitresses were excellent at refilling our drinks which is leagues above having to almost beg the busboy to refill your drink at Woody’s.

Mimosas make every brunch that much better.

Wow. I just went in full restaurant review mode there. Sorry about that. Have a great week!

Tandoori Chicken - Home Entry!

I love Indian food. Well, most of it anyways. I especially love the Chicken Mahkani at Mother India in Costa Mesa. I love Mother India’s Chicken Mahkani so much that not only do I eat it at least once a month but I also subject any visitors that may come and visit me to eat at Mother India as well. I become a little bit defensive if the person I brought to Mother India doesn’t fall in love with it like I have (Hi Mom, yes, I mean you…spicy my ass) (Actually she doesn’t know about this blog…mainly because she considers ‘shut up’ to be a swear word). I love their Chicken Mahkani so deeply that even though I tell myself I will one-day order something from Mother India that isn’t Chicken Mahkani I never do. It’s really just that good. As is their daal…and garlic naan…and samosas…I hear other things are good too but I have never tried them. Oh, but their lunch buffet kinda bites. I know; it’s weird.

This weekend Kevin and I were broke. Like really broke. Like almost considered selling off the CD collection and breaking into change jar for groceries broke. But I was really in the mood for some Chicken Mahkani, which is pretty common of me to want something right at the time when I can least afford it. So I decided that I would make my own Chicken Mahkani, which I have done before but never the proper way, which is to use Tandoori Chicken. Now granted, I still couldn’t make Tandoori Chicken the way one is suppose to do it (clay oven), but I do have a BBQ grill. Clay Oven, BBQ Grill…close enough (there’s a country in Asia right now fainting at the thought).

Surprisingly, we already had most of the ingredients in the house from the last time I tried (and ‘tried’ really is the appropriate word here) so all I had to buy was the world’s most expensive chicken breasts, some yogurt, bit of ginger, and a lemon which I didn’t even use.



I first cut up the chicken into bits and soak it in a bit of lemon juice and salt. Meanwhile, Kevin mixed together all the other marinade things, except for the food coloring, which I insisted that I do just because it would be fun. Yes, I have a weird sense of the word ‘fun’.



After applying the marinade to the chicken bits, I left it in the refrigerator for what seemed like eternity. But in real life time, it was 24 hours. Believe me when I say, when you want Chicken Mahkani, 24 hours IS eternity.


My fridge, in case 'Cribs' ever wants to come to my house.

The next day I started the grill. I am embarrassed to say that after two and a half years of living in California I have become accustomed to always being able to grill outside (without freezing my ass off). It’s a luxury I take for granted. This is the round about way of me saying I’m sorry it snowed on your Easter. If it makes you feel any better, we’re in a drought which means that this summer the entire state of California will burn down to the ground that will also mean it will be uncomfortably hot (fire=hot) and we don’t have an air conditioner…or a hose big enough to handle a fire that size.


Grill and the tomato plants that can't grow fast enough.

Where was I? OH YES, the grill. So I threw the marinade pieces of chicken on there and once they were properly cooked, I began calling it Tandoori.


My name is Earl, uh, I mean 'tandoori chicken'.

From there I made the Mahkani sauce.


Ah! How many of you have Kasoori Methi in your house? OK, how about know what it is?

As you can see from the picture below, includes Asia’s ration of butter. I understand that Mahkani can also called ‘Butter Chicken’ but DAMN.


Asia's going to be pissed.

After the butter melted, I threw in everything else and let it simmer awhile. I did come to the realization that a wok probably wasn’t the best instrument to use for this as simmering Mahkani means splattered Mahkani all over stove, countertop, floor, Moe, glass of wine besides stove, cat, and I think even one of the smaller countries in Asia.



So this is the finished product. I was a bit disappointed in the sauce (which means I’m STILL in the mood for Mother India) but the Tandoori Chicken was fantastic.

No Mother India, but not bad.

CONTEST UPDATE: I will be announcing the winners of the New This Weekend Contest on Friday, April 13th. Make sure to check in and if you haven’t already, send in those entries!