This Tapas Is Freakin' Me Out
Now I have the olive hitched on the stick, and I'm easing down on the tip of the cone, trying to squeeze the mayo through the olive's center.
Intuition says if I go real slow, the mayo will come squeezin' outta the olive -- only the olive hits the plate and squishes the mayo cone before any kinda mayo vesuvius happens.
Looks like normal mayo to me. Not mixed with concrete or anything. And that was some anchovy tucked away in my olive till I slurped the critter free, so I'm working with wide bore yummo rather than cardiovascular disease style apertures.
So what's going on here?
Lame cocktail stick technique?
Or is raw science at work, messing with my curiosity?
Any top flight physics wonks or athletes wanna help out here before I lose the plot with the garlic bread and that '7 folds = impossible' deal?
(I'd ask the old couple in the window but my body language sensors figure they wanna stab me in the head for being weird.)
Tapas is nothing if not passion food...
Raising a child is akin to knowing you're getting fired in 18 years and having to train your replacement without actively sabotaging them.
What if they're not stars? What if they are holes poked in the top of a container so we can breath?
Raising a child is akin to knowing you're getting fired in 18 years and having to train your replacement without actively sabotaging them.
Lightin' fuses is for blowin' stuff togethah.