Saturday, August 18 , 2018, 3:47 pm | Partly Cloudy 74º

 
 
 
 

She Said, Z Said: Food Fight Gets Down to Basics

There's no way to sugarcoat it: She Said, Z Said cook up a kitchen competition.

She: Koss was sick all week, so he got in some serious TV time. His new favorite channel? The Food Network.

Z: That’s better than last year’s brief obsession with the Weather Channel. Who tapes the Weather Channel?

She: At the end of one show, he said he found a new recipe he wanted to make.{mosimage}

Z: Cookies?

She: Ham. You know, something we just happen to have in the fridge.

Z: I kind of liked the episode of Iron Chef I watched with him.

She: The one where they had to make five desserts?

Z: The “secret ingredient” was all different kinds and colors of sugar.

She: I’ll confess that was some inspiring TV. Better than most of the food-porn catalogs I dog-ear during the holidays.

Z: I think we should do an Iron Chef competition at home, only ours would be the Plastic Chef.

She: Hey! I cook.

Z: You’ve gotten very touchy about that, lately. You used to be more fun when I could tease you for screwing up mashed potatoes, or how I used to say we both married poorly in the kitchen department.

She: That’s because I’ve gotten much better in the kitchen.

Z: I guess that’s more useful than getting better in the bathroom.

She: Fine, we can have a Plastic Chef competition. Can we make sugar our “secret ingredient,” too?

Z: Sounds good. I hope you like sugar on toast and quesadillas.

She: Only if you don’t mind it on pasta.

Z: Koss can be our judging panel.

She: I don’t think he’ll be very fair. Simply because you cooked pasta for him first, he still thinks you’re a better cook than me.

Z: I love how he always asks me to butter his pasta for him, and then politely apologizes to you for not having you do it.

She: He doesn’t want to offend me. It’s very sweet, but come on. I can butter the stupid pasta.

Z: Not as well as I can. And as soon I spread sugar on his baked potato, he’s going to pick me as the next Plastic Chef.

She: Aren’t you the one who took a year to figure out how to bake a potato?

Z: Yeah, but that’s only because potatoes don’t have directions printed on them. If there was a recipe on them, I could follow it.

She: And what about the instant gravy last night? You added water to powder, and then freaked out about how to stir it.

Z: You handed me a whisk with no clear instructions. How long should I stir it for? What does “thick” mean? How thick? What temperature? You threw away the package, so again, I had no clear directions.

She: I’m going to crush you in this Plastic Chef competition.

Z: I don’t know. I’ve always liked your generational-skip theory of cooking skills. Both of our mothers are excellent cooks, so neither one of us really had to learn.

She: I do hold out some hope that my (prior) lack of cooking skills will ensure that Koss can someday be a great chef.

Z: I’m hoping he’ll do it sooner than later.

She: I wonder if there’s any way to childproof all of the stations except the Cooking Channel?

Z: I read in Wikipedia that you replace the V-chip with a corn chip.

She: Time’s up. I’m going with a breakfast theme. I’ve got cinnamon toast, sugar frosted flakes, hot chocolate, and See’s Candy.

Z: But, but … I didn’t know we’re starting yet. You were talking to me.

She: Yes, I was. One of the keys to Plastic Chef mastery is the ability to multitask, which you would know if you actually watched the Iron Chef with Koss, instead of just nodding your head and doing a crossword puzzle.

Z: Now you’ll never know the wonders of sugar-topped Pop-Tarts.

She: Yes, dear.

Send your recipe tips to She and Z at [email protected].

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