The Season for Canapés

Last night, after a particularly frustrating and discouraging day (even the chronically excited among us have them), my Sidekick whisked me away to Henry Public for a "Let's Celebrate Learning Things from Failure by Eating All of the Things" kind of a meal. He brought out the big guns out for this meal, "Bone marrow?" he asked. "Oysters?"

"No," I said, "radishes, please."

This is How We Learn

Oy. You guys.

A brief survey: Have you ever been so excited to cook something, so meticulous about its pairing and preparation and so trepidatious about screwing it up that when you do, somehow, screw it up you have to sit down on the floor of the kitchen and practice yoga breathing in order to not explode into a fit of toddler-like proportions?

Is this just me? Because that is exactly what happened with the beautiful Mangalitsa pork chops I was going on and on about just the other day. They look so harmless here, nestled in their bed of Brussels sprouts, poised to ruin my evening.