John and his ketchup. Someone must put a stop to this condiment abuse.
All the major food groups. Tators, cheese, garlic.
He loves the iron skillet. I just think it looks decorative.
John made some breakfast a couple weekends ago that made my mouth feel real prettylike. It was simple and delish. Hand-sliced potato hash browns with folded eggs and cheddar cheese.
I've found that our style of prepping is what makes us so different in the kitchen. While I love efficiency and order, John prefers to keep it old-timey and embraces the process. While I like to pre-measure, use electric gadgets and line everything up in small, white vessels, John has a more organic approach to cooking. He casually chops everything by hand, mixes ingredients with wooden spoons in handmade bowls and taps his foot to what's playing on the radio. Heck, he really doesn't even use a recipe much anymore. It wouldn't be any fun if you had to follow someone else's rules. To him, at least.
I thrive on staying between the lines. I'm a creature of habit – give me instructions and I will try my hardest never to stray. Cooking for me takes an hour just to find the best version of the recipe I want to make. If I can find a dish that has already been tweaked, tested and proven delicious, it takes all the guessing out of the equation. It's methodical and meticulous, but I prefer organized chaos.
Suddenly I realized that our philisophies in the kitchen absolutely translate into the way we lead our lives. He has a way of making everything seem so simple, spontaneous and so damn fun. And, everything I do in my life takes hours of preparation, research and thought - until it inevitably maddens me. I forget what I was working on, because I get too fixated on the details. But John always helps me to see the big picture.
I love that jackass. And his breakfast.
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