It’s okay if he has a little syrup, too
So Jack cooked up a big batch of heroin — er, I mean veal stock this weekend. He started by roasting veal bones — and God forgive me, I’ll never be a real yogi for saying this but roasting veal bones smell like heaven itself. Then he added a bunch of wine and vegetables, put it all in a huge stew pot, and let it simmer and reduce and reduce and reduce until we had a small batch of pure black tar junk. Then what did he do last night? He turned off the heat and went to bed. So this morning I’m left staring at a cold pot of what could either be a month’s worth of melting ecstasy or one dose of pure bacterial poison. What did I do? I poured it into ice cube trays and stuck it in the freezer. So if this blog isn’t updated in about three days, would someone come check to see if Jack and I are decomposing on the couch and the Nut’s in his crib wanting breakfast? There’s some Arrowhead Multigrain pancake mix in the kitchen, he loves that stuff.