Farmer H has been stepping out on Mrs. Hillbilly Mom. Grazing in greener pastures. Developing a risk-taking palate. Feasting on foods that are not served in the Mansion. Until now.
Note To Self: do not ever again ask Farmer H what he wants for supper the next day. Especially after you have been to two different Devil's Playgrounds in three days, and think the food purchases for the week are complete. And after he dances around the subject and remains uncommitted after you give him three choices.
"Well...I have a really good shrimp taco at a place up by work."
AHA! That would explain the odors that linger in the bathroom.
"What do you mean, shrimp taco? I can't make a shrimp taco! I offered you a chicken taco. I have everything we need for them."
"It's not that hard. Just shrimp. On a taco."
"You mean fried shrimp? Or boiled shrimp? How is it cooked."
"It's browned in a pan. Not breaded."
"I never heard of shrimp cooked like that. Or in a taco!"
"Like that shrimp you gave me the other day."
"The frozen kind. That all you have to do is thaw it out with cold water? I guess you'll want the feet cut off."
"Yes. I can't eat the feet. It won't be THAT hard. You just pinch off the feet."
"Do you know how many times I would have to do that? It's way easier to cut them off than pinch them off."
"Okay. Do it however you want."
SIGH. "So what else do you have on these shrimp tacos?"
"Yesss. And rice and onions and tomatoes and lettuce--"
"What kind of rice? Like Spanish rice?"
"I guess so."
"What about the onions? Diced onions like I make for our tacos?"
"No. It's more like a shrimp fajita. About a half inch long [let the record show that Farmer H held up his thumb and forefinger about three inches apart] and as thick as a pencil."
"Wait! You don't even like peppers! Fajitas have peppers! I have a frozen bag of fajita vegetables in the freezer."
"I pick out the peppers. I only want onions."
"So...I'll have to go to the store for shrimp, because you ate the last of it two days ago. I have refried beans. I have Spanish rice mix. I have onions. I have lettuce. I'll need tomatoes. What kind of tomatoes do you mean? Like salsa?"
"No. Tomatoes. Like stewed tomatoes. From a can."
"Those are all watery and limp. I can't believe you have those on a taco. Do you mean like diced tomatoes? Like I put in chili?"
"Yeah. That's fine."
So...I went to the store and got the other stuff and tried to brown the shrimp but they didn't. I sweated the onions and they looked pretty good. I picked up something called Mexican Rice instead of Spanish Rice. It was in a packet. Easy enough to make. Of course I had to warm the refried beans in the microwave. Another bowl dirtied. I had to strain the diced tomatoes. Strainer to wash.
Plus, Farmer H picked it up AND CARRIED IT ACROSS TO THE CUTTING BLOCK, leaving a trail of juicy drippings in three double spots. THEN acted all hissy/pissy when I told him he dripped, and to clean it up, and to USE THE SOAPY WATER I already had in the sink to wash up the dishes I used preparing this feast for the last 30 minutes.
Farmer H prepared two large tortillas with layers of this mixture. Then he took them on two plates to his La-Z-Boy while I cleaned up the cookware. He announced that it was almost like the ones he has at that place up by work, but that THEY use the BIG shrimp.
"Okay. I guess I should have gotten the big shrimp and cut off the feet."
"No. This is fine. It means I get more of it."
Let the record show that Farmer H said his shrimp tacos (which looked like big fat burritos to me) were delicious.
That means he will want them again.