Hot Mama

I have a new hobby. That is, if doing something twice constitutes it as being a hobby, which in this case I think it does. Mainly because I have every intention of doing it again and again. This new hobby is making hot sauce (salsa, for you non-Texans*). My loving parents equipped me with a food processor this year, and what better way to put it to use? Now, instead of paying for chips and hot sauce at restaurants or going to nasty nast "Mexican" places for the free chips and hot sauce (I'm looking at you, La Parilla, El Amigo), I just whip up my own. Wut wut culinary goddess right here.

My first attempt was tomatillo based, and it was tasty albeit disappointing. The jalepeno I added did not provide near enough heat for my taste. My second attempt is tomato based and in the fridge right now to let the flavors meld. I used serrano peppers in hopes of kicking the spice up a notch. We'll see how it goes. If you know of any good hot sauce recipes, or if you call the local food columnist and ask for her thoughts on recipes used at a certain favorite Mexican restaurant, let me know.

*I learned when I got to Georgia that, over here, "salsa" is what you call hot sauce and "hot sauce" is what you call Tabasco. I've always just referred to any salsa as "hot sauce" and any hot sauce as "Tabasco", kind of like all sodas are called "Coke" and facial tissues are called "Kleenex". Deal with it, Georgians. Another discrepancy between here and Texas is that the poor Walmart cashier had no clue what a tomatillo was. Even when I informed her that she was holding peppers called tomatillos, she had no clue where to find them on her handy dandy produce chart. I knew I could have helped her out by pronouncing the "L"s, but I wasn't about to stoop so low. Deal with it, inner city Atlantans that work at the Walmart.

Word.

'Tis a bit belated, but during my cake-baking escapade I unearthed a gem of discrepancy between Texans and everyone else in the world. At least, my kind of Texans.

The recipe called for the cake to cool in the pan for five minutes before removing it and letting it cool on a rack. (Cardinal, the rack!) In those five minutes, I moseyed out into the hall to chit chat with the girls. After a while, I excused myself to go tump out the cake.

"What did you just say?"
"I have to go tump out the cake."
"Tump?"
"Wait, y'all've never heard people say tump?"
"I've never even heard of that before!"
"I don't believe you. Everyone says tump."
"Not here."
"Not even in Kentucky?"
"Nope."
"Well, I've still got to go tump it out."

Unbelievable.

Apparency

You know you're not in Texas when the Pace is found on the "Ethnic Food" aisle.

You know you've crossed some sort of line when your new favorite section of Barnes and Noble is the Reference section.

Drill Team

After using "I was on a drill team in middle school" as my interesting fact for several ice breakers, I realized that most people I was talking to assumed I meant military drill team, a la Cadet Kelly.

Just to clear the air, to a Texan, the term "drill team" refers to a dance team proficient in all styles of dance, but known for extravagant kick routines and strutting across the field during pregame and halftime.

 One of my best friends is a drill team officer. Please excuse my photo-bragging.