I looked forward to trying a new lasagna recipe last night, but I lacked a few ingredients, so my plans were ruined. I didn’t know what to make for dinner. My options were few and grim — hot dogs, soup, or grilled cheese. I tend to become cranky (and — I admit — completely irrational) when I’m hungry, so Greg sent me out to walk Abe and said he would fix dinner.
Abe and I arrived home to find Greg making French toast. I looked at the bread soaking in its batter.
“I added a special ingredient,” Greg said. These words are my biggest fear. Greg is forever adding secret ingredients to his recipes. “Chocolate milk?” I asked skeptically. The batter looked too brown.
“No,” Greg said. “But that is a great idea!”
He walked toward the fridge to get the chocolate milk.
“No, please don’t add chocolate milk,” I pleaded.
Greg refused to tell me the secret ingredient until I tasted the French toast. It was tangy.
“I added buttermilk,” Greg revealed.
“That would explain the kick it has,” I said.
“And orange liquor,” Greg said. “A lot.”
As I kept chewing, I knew that Greg meant it when he said “a lot.”
I think he used liquor in place of eggs. While I was on the walk, Greg decided the best way to pull me out of my funk was to intoxicate me. He had hoped to do this secretly by feeding me mass quantities of wheat bread soaked in alcohol. Even after I was full, he pushed that toast at me. If nothing else, I think he was hoping he could make me forget about the lemon-flavored scrambled eggs he made during his first cooking experiment.