BroNachos

Bronachos.

That's a bar in my hometown---rather the nickname of a bar in my hometown because it: Starts with a B, has really good nachos, and is is usually full of bros.

It's also the name of this dish.

Ok, that's not it either----but it should be the name of the episode.

I made Irish Nachos.

I had Irish Nachos at a bar for St. Patrick's one year and was blown away. Instead of tortilla chips, put all the same toppings I love onto potato slices, with a few more chives.

I made this dish with meat for a party and got a marriage proposal. I'm putting that in the 'win' column. I made it with crab today just for myself. Since I made it twice, I have a couple notes!

Potatoes are delicious. For some reason, you need to soak them in cold water after slicing them for about 20 minutes. Luckily there's a lot you can do in 20 minutes while you wait for this, you can work on your short story, take a shower, do the dishes or watch an episode of Bojack Horseman.

After drying them---you can coat them in olive oil and either fry them or bake them. You can also drop half a cup of olive oil on the floor. This will make you sad if you just spent 20 minutes in the shower and now have olive oil and thus everything else all over the bottom of your foot.

I would recommend baking the slices for 25-35 minutes. It's worth the extra time for better texture in your potato nacho mountain. (There, found the title)

What I did for my friends was take a can of chili and mix it was a LOT of shredded cheese, and almost 1:1 ratio, but mixing the two beforehand works a lot better than layering it.

I layered the mixture between potato slices and topped it with cheese.

I then topped it with diced tomatoes and the perfect flower of avocado slices. I didn't take a picture, so you have no choice but to believe me that it was perfect. If you follow suit and get a marriage proposal, please invite me to the wedding.

For my crab version, the cheese didn't work out as well---the first batch the cheese melted into the chili perfectly, but maybe the meat had a little to do with it. My pescatarian version had bean chili and cheddar cheese and the results weren't as pretty.

I'm giving myself a 2/5 for taking pictures of this recipe. I took none of the ingredients or the pan-baked potatoes or the version of the recipe that turned out well! Oops.

THE EPISODE

I take back what I said in my last post. This episode has all my all-time-favorite Ravi lines.

"Hope you like jaeger bombs and homoerotic subtext!"

Also every exchange in the club, and before the club. I laugh every time I see it. "I didn't know there were limits to our friendship"---"I can get you a bazooka in fifteen minutes---at price. But (look up actual quote?)

This episode is the turning point where I start to love Ravi almost as much as I love Major. By the way, I recently discovered I'm a fangirl. I never thought I was a fangirl because I never screamed at boy bands or got squealy at the mention of a fandom----nope---I'm the fangirl who weeps silently in the corner. I realized this when I was having a completely normal conversation with someone at work and then they mentioned John Boyega. I dissolved. Every emotion spread across my face, and my words turned into incomprehensible sounds. Not squeals...but...close to tears. So I'm pretty high on the emotional scale when it comes to fiction or John Boyega. And soon Major (and Minor!)

I also love the writing of this episode. The reveal is almost cheap, but it's set up so craftily that I'm well-impressed. Usually, especially in this show, the killer is the first person the detective meets...not the first person they suspect or interview, but the first person they talk to. The person who discovers the body, etc. This was refreshing because the final clue is in the first interview, but we don't meet the killer until later. All of the puzzle pieces are thrown in that first interview, but without the right suspect to connect them.

This may be one of my favorite episodes, but I have a feeling I am going to write that sentence often. I did start a blog about how much I love this show, by the way.

---

Sometimes my stories are sillier than others...but always, they change tense halfway through.

John was a writer. At least that was what he told himself.

John sat at the computer from day to night, toiling away, but most days he didn’t write a word. Not even a facebook status. Facebook, he thought, would distract from the writing. And he wanted no distractions.

Instead, John poured himself a cup of tea and sat in front of his computer. He opened up a word document and stared. He took a sip of tea and stared. Decided that his tea needed sugar. No honey. No both. He took a sip and stared. He needed cream, too. John added that and stared. He started a sentence, then hit backspace repeatedly. He had many thoughts in his head, but nothing was quite right. He needed a way to sort them.

He could have journaled. That thought was in the back of his mind, but he pushed it further back. His fingers trembled. He took a sip of tea and stared. He checked his phone. He put his fingers back on the home keys. He thought about learning to type and wondered who decided what letters went where. He wondered if in other countries computer keyboards looked different. In Iceland, he bet, the Z key must be on the home row. Or was it Iceland that used all the Zs? Or was it K? He should really travel more.

John sighed. He rubbed his hands together. Took a sip of tea and stared. His fingers trembled again and before he could stop himself, he opened up a webpage and typed “solitaire (no I shouldn’t, but...only for a minute) -online.com”

The cards fake shuffled across the screen and the pulse that had rattled John’s heart settled. The jitter in his fingers calmed. He moved an Ace to the top and felt a calm center grow in his belly. He sorted the cards, flipped through the deck. And within minutes, he got the satisfying sight of the decks of cards bouncing across the screen. He used to have a program that just showed fireworks...this was better. But it was also Easy mode, and John was in the mood to challenge himself.

He drew three cards at a time and got stuck. Flipped through the deck again, but he had lost the game. He needed to win. He restarted.

John shuffled, flipped and stacked cards, virtually on his computer, and the sun set. In between he had lunch, and now it was dinner time. The blank microsoft word document flashed brightly at him, taunted him, and he closed it, without writing a single word.

The next day passed similarly, and the next, and the next.

John went a month or two without a paycheck. Now he ate stale quesadillas with butter and cream cheese because cheddar was too expensive. And he needed to write.

But still, he didn’t.

Now, John’s a good guy. I gave you a peek into some of the lowest points of his life, but I don’t want you judging him too harshly. Everyone has a vice and a month where they just lose. What I didn’t include, where the nights he spent crying. Without company and without heat.

John had a failed relationship. The break-up took all his friends, his apartment, his cat. And now he’s alone. He’s alone and can’t write. But I don’t want you judging him too harshly.

Like I said, John’s a good guy and he knows how to ask for help...several months after he needs it.

John finds a Church. He enters on a Saturday night, walks past the pews, wonders to the sacristy, realizes he’s gone too far, and before the sentence becomes a run-on, he turns around. He walks back past the prayer candles and realizes this Church does not have a basement. He goes to the building next door. The Parish hall.

There he finds the cancer support group ending, and it’ll be just a few minutes before his group starts. It’s a big city and he managed to find “Solitaire Anonymous”.

He nervously takes a seat in a chair and waits for people to file in. There are businessmen, college students and about a dozen aspiring writers. It’s like a coffee shop on a Saturday morning. Except this coffee is cold and the donuts were all taken by the cancer group. Also there’s no computers or coffee shop.

Nancy, the group leader, introduces herself. She welcomes the new people---John’s not the only new face. He finds himself too shy to say a word, so he gently waves.

Another new person, a single mother, shares a heartbreaking story about sneaking down to the computer after her children are asleep to play solitaire. Sometimes she plays in the evening while her children complete their homework, and leaves them to eat cereal for dinner. She’s ashamed. She wants help.

Another survivor tells their story, it’s the same one, but replace the kids with guinea pigs and leaving them to eat cereal for dinner with left a casserole in the oven too long and let the apartment burn down.

John’s heart is heavy. It thuds against his stomach and he feels like he might be sick. But he also feels comfortable enough to speak up.

“How can you help us? What do you guys do?” He looks at them desperately and waits for wisdom.

Nancy pauses, looks at the group, as if to ask permission, and then takes out a deck of cards. All the group follows suit. A deck of cards in each hand.

“Have you ever played Nerts?” Nancy asks.

John’s face wrinkles in confusion.

That night John didn’t play solitaire, he played a game with friends. He competed. He shuffled. He laughed. He flipped cards, moved aces. He even won once or twice. He left feeling satisfied.

After several hours, he looked at Nancy. “Now what?”

“You come back next week, John.”

“Bring one of your stories. I’m an assistant to an editor. I can tell you if it’s any good.”

“I’ll tutor your children so you can relax after work.” This wasn’t directed at him.

“You can sleep on my couch until you find a new place.” Neither was this.

“You can join our poker group on Tuesdays.” This was for everyone.

When John got home that night, he didn’t cry. He still couldn’t afford heat so he still shivered, but he did so with a calm smile. Tomorrow, he thought, I can get some writing done. And he did.