The leftover rice in the fridge was staring at me. These things can drive you to drink, if you’re not careful. I thought perhaps a fried rice supper would take care of my rumbletum as much as it would aid in emptying the refrigerator before any dangerous stuff happened. There was a container of bacon paste (yep, just pureed raw bacon; if you have to ask why, you may be too delicate to know) conveniently near to hand, as well as a nice ripe Fuji apple. Convergence zones can lead to things, too.
So there was some frying of bacon paste with diced apple in it. Skin on, because I’m so health-crazy and fiber conscious. Oh. Flavor-fiendish. That. Then there was the dolloping of a hearty dose of ground, fresh, peppery ginger root. A slurp of lime juice. And another moment of convenient convergence: the last of a bottle of Bourbon was right next to the cooker, which could perfectly assuage the driven-to-drink problem. Additionally, we would certainly prefer to carefully remove any flammable liquids from right next to the cooker, wouldn’t we. So I heroically saved our household from a terrifying conflagration by pouring that right on in to deglaze the skillet. Health-crazy, fiber conscious and out to save the whole derned world, that’s me.
Nah. But hungry. It wasn’t beautiful, but it did the trick neatly and left me thanking my lucky stars that there was a little rice, an apple, some lime juice and other flavorings, not to mention a dash of sour mash whiskey, all right close by when I needed a quick bite. With a little bite, preferably.