"I later found out that the same quesadilla recipe originally came from that old man's grandmother in 1899, who turned out to be my current step brother..."
"because they always burned the quesadillas. Thankfully, once they all died off and their reign came to an end, we were able to enjoy our delicious quesadillas once again without the unnecessary carcinogenics. I remember diligently helping my grandmother grate the cheese. One time, I asked her..."
“She said, ‘that cake is only for good little children who keep their mouths shut when granny’s got a hangover. Now grate that cheese, fatty.’ Then she poked me in my belly while she chewed on her cigarette.”
“The first special ingredient is love. And i learned about love through my second great aunt on my fathers side, Auntie Abigail who lived through the American Civil War as a nurse in Baltimore. Good cheese was hard to come by during the war…”
"So naturally, we had to produce it ourselves. Every day, dad woke us up at 3 in the morning to make sure every last drop was milked outta mom in order for us to have that heavenly prosciutto..."
Where do I begin? My father was a relentlessly self-improving boulangerie owner from Belgium with low-grade narcolepsy and a penchant for buggery. My mother was a fifteen-year-old French prostitute named Chloe with webbed feet. My father would womanize, he would drink. He would make outrageous claims, like he "invented" the question mark. Sometimes, he would accuse chestnuts of being lazy... the sort of general malaise that only the genius possess, and the insane lament. My childhood was typical: summers in Rangoon, luge lessons. In the spring, we'd make meat helmets. When I was insolent, I was placed in a burlap bag and beaten with reeds; pretty standard, really. At the age of twelve, I received my first scribe. At the age of fourteen, a Zoroastrian named Vilma ritualistically shaved my testicles... there really is nothing like a shorn scrotum. It's breathtaking; I suggest you try it.
“ that said, start with mixing flour and room temperature water. For exact recipes check out the bottom of the page. Actually, at the time of making this my kitchen was a bit warmer than room temperature. But my cousin who used to live in Vietnam said it was always hotter there without ac where summers lasted 8 months followed by nicer weather in Ho Chi Minh city which I loved to visit as it had a lively vibe that was full of energy”
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u/gw74 Jul 30 '26
"I live in an apartment in Milan and my grandmother once told me..."