The Home Gourmet thread
10-01-2012, 02:46 PM
#667
Ahi. 1.57 lbs
https://www.dropbox.com/s/78t2f0fa87...2020.22.50.jpg
Sicilian style with Vodka Sauce and Sausage.
https://www.dropbox.com/s/c5cwq7s4s5...2020.16.26.jpg
https://www.dropbox.com/s/78t2f0fa87...2020.22.50.jpg
Sicilian style with Vodka Sauce and Sausage.
https://www.dropbox.com/s/c5cwq7s4s5...2020.16.26.jpg
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10-11-2012, 08:17 PM
#677
Boost Pope
iTrader: (8)
Join Date: Sep 2005
Location: Chicago. (The less-murder part.)
Posts: 33,019
Total Cats: 6,587
This is always such a pleasant scent to be greeted by when you walk through the door:
It reminds me of my early childhood, growing up in a forced-labor camp in Calcutta. We'd return home to the barracks after a long day in the gravel mines, and smell the glorious, sweet aroma of the curry bubbling away in the clay oven of the warden's mansion just outside the fence. We, of course, dined on stale naan mixed with what few chunks of gravel we'd manage to smuggle away from the mine inside our rectums, but we'd dream of what it must be like to enjoy a hot, fresh meal. And that thought filled us more heartily than bread and foul-smelling gravel ever could.
It reminds me of my early childhood, growing up in a forced-labor camp in Calcutta. We'd return home to the barracks after a long day in the gravel mines, and smell the glorious, sweet aroma of the curry bubbling away in the clay oven of the warden's mansion just outside the fence. We, of course, dined on stale naan mixed with what few chunks of gravel we'd manage to smuggle away from the mine inside our rectums, but we'd dream of what it must be like to enjoy a hot, fresh meal. And that thought filled us more heartily than bread and foul-smelling gravel ever could.
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10-11-2012, 09:07 PM
#680
This is always such a pleasant scent to be greeted by when you walk through the door:
It reminds me of my early childhood, growing up in a forced-labor camp in Calcutta. We'd return home to the barracks after a long day in the gravel mines, and smell the glorious, sweet aroma of the curry bubbling away in the clay oven of the warden's mansion just outside the fence. We, of course, dined on stale naan mixed with what few chunks of gravel we'd manage to smuggle away from the mine inside our rectums, but we'd dream of what it must be like to enjoy a hot, fresh meal. And that thought filled us more heartily than bread and foul-smelling gravel ever could.
It reminds me of my early childhood, growing up in a forced-labor camp in Calcutta. We'd return home to the barracks after a long day in the gravel mines, and smell the glorious, sweet aroma of the curry bubbling away in the clay oven of the warden's mansion just outside the fence. We, of course, dined on stale naan mixed with what few chunks of gravel we'd manage to smuggle away from the mine inside our rectums, but we'd dream of what it must be like to enjoy a hot, fresh meal. And that thought filled us more heartily than bread and foul-smelling gravel ever could.
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