Good Lord, I’m drunk.
I returned this afternoon to the grocery store, picked up another container of crab claw meat on sale, and after three days of gathering the items required by the recipe on the carton, began preparing a double portion, which rendered six of the best crab cakes I, or perhaps anyone, in fact, have ever eaten. Do not show up at a grocery store in the morning expecting to buy more crab claw meat on sale without doing mortal combat with me. Should that turn out to be the case, you may have the advantage, as I am likely to be incredibly hungover.
I prepared a salad and the crab cakes as specified, but the real challenge turned out to be the condiment of Tiger Sauce. As you may find, if you look, the internet is incredibly confused as to its actual nature. I finally found an obscure site where a woman had spent many years attempting the feat, obtaining a result with which she was finally content. I, having only my arcane larder at this point in the late afternoon to draw upon, made do with a combo of sour cream, mayo, lemon juice, horseradish, chinese mustard, salsa and catsup.
For years, I ruined everything with cayenne pepper, and so have recently proscribed its very existence, resulting in a remoulade of unsurpassing simplicity, without the heat which may have rendered it unappetizing, rather than the sublime.
The Wife, sated beyond even her great imagining, is now calling for dessert, which I am readily able to provide.
I may not in fact possess a giant penis, great wealth or even a job. However, I regularly make up for it in various and sundry ways, unimaginable to the average clod. In this particular instance, I have, with the help of some crab, a few cukes, a great remoulade and not a small amount of gin, achieved an epicurian Nirvana, available but to a very few.
In the interest of full disclosure, exigencies regarding my employment have accelerated toward good fortune. You may be informed as they progress.