The Home Gourmet thread
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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dude, that pizza is gold I drove 2 hours to get it. you can substitute avocados for kalamata olives if you prefer...that's the other variant of the pizza.
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Joined: Sep 2005
Posts: 34,381
Total Cats: 7,504
From: Chicago. (The less-murder part.)
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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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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