Parasols Magazine – Cooking for Two

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Amateur

*Author’s Note: Any and all persons engaging in any sexual activity are at least eighteen years of age.

*****

Valerie Elswell, Editor In Chief of Parasols magazine was watching her favorite soap opera when an extremely annoying commercial began. She switched the channel and happened across ‘The Cast Iron Stomach,’ a cooking show on Channel 12, a local independent station in DeGarde, Louisiana.

The show was so entertaining; Valerie forgot to switch the television back to her soap opera. But, as Bobby, her brother constantly told her, ‘watch it tomorrow; you haven’t missed anything.’

Milt Duhon, the star of ‘The Cast Iron Stomach’ was funny, warm, and informative. Valerie couldn’t cook; her freezer was chock full of microwave meals. But Milt showed how to make a simple hash and Valerie briefly thought of stopping off at the local grocery store to buy the ingredients.

Thankfully for her, and her neighbors, sanity intervened. Valerie realized, she did not own the cookware necessary, nor did she really have the remedial skills necessary to cook the simple meal.

But if watching thirty minutes of the man could almost inspire her, surely Milt could write a monthly article for their magazine.

“Cooking for sluts,” she said, walking into the C.O.O.’s office.

“Huh?” Bobby, her younger brother asked, looking up from the proofs he was perusing for next month’s issue.

“You’ve heard of cooking for dummies? This is cooking for sluts,” Valerie said, sitting down in one of the low slung chairs in front of Bobby’s desk. “I just saw this show on TV…”

“I’m paying you to sit on your ass and watch TV?” Bobby asked.

“Leave my ass out of this,” Valerie smiled.

She crossed her legs and smirked as her own brother’s eyes shot to her crotch.

“Anyway, this guy, Milt somebody…” Valerie said.

“Milt Duhon? The Cast Iron Stomach?” Bobby asked.

“You’ve heard of it?” Valerie asked.

“Valerie! You haven’t?” Bobby laughed. “It’s the hottest thing in DeGarde right now.”

“We eat out what? A hundred times a week? When’s the last time you’ve seen me in a kitchen?” Valerie said. “Anyway, I was thinking, what about a cooking thing? Sexy and fun foods?”

“Why not?” Bobby shrugged. “Two, three pages?”

Channel 12 patched Valerie through to the voice mail for Milt Duhon and Valerie hung up without leaving a message. She was Valerie Elswell, Editor In Chief of Parasols; she didn’t leave messages. People left messages for her.

She drove down to the independent broadcasting station, parked next to a battered old pickup truck and hoped the rust wouldn’t infect her BMW.

Valerie walked in, asked to speak with the manager and was introduced to John Guidry, the station’s managing director.

“Sure; he’s in the middle of taping a show right now,” John smiled. “Studio C; want to see?”

“And that’s how you do you a stir fry in a skillet,” Milt Duhon was smiling, showing a completed dish.

“And that’s a wrap,” Bill Henderson, the floor manager called out after a long moment of silence.

“Milt, this here’s Valerie Elswell; she’s the Editor of Parasols magazine,” John did the introductions.

Valerie presented her idea of a monthly cooking article and Milt smiled but shook his head ‘no.’

“Cher, sorry but I’m under contract to Savoie Publishing; they doing a cookbook and everything,” he apologized.

“Well, it was worth a shot,” she smiled and turned to leave.

“But you need someone write real good and kind of smart?” Milt said and grabbed Kathy Kroff, one of the set directors.

Valerie looked at the attractive young woman, with her light brown hair, large breasts and small waist and bubble butt and nodded.

“You can cook?” she asked the flustered woman.

“Mr. Milt, I don’t…” Kathy objected, and then turned her attention to the attractive brunette woman in her expensive jacket, blouse and short skirt and expensive pumps. “Well, yes ma’am; I interned on Mr. Milt’s show, and now I’m set director, which is a fancy way of saying I run to the store and buy what he’s cooking.”

*.*.*.*

April, 2014

In the upper left hand corner was a photograph of Kathy Kroff, chef’s hat on her head, tiny apron tied around her middle, leaving her heavy breasts and hard nipples as well as her lightly furred crotch visible. She wore a knowing little smirk and held up a wooden spoon.

Underneath her photograph, in bold face type was the title, ‘Cooking For Two. Or Three by Kathy Kroff.’

My girlfriend brought by the carcass of their ten pound spiral cut honey baked ham; I said I wanted the bone for my red beans and rice. When she brought it by, there was still at least two pounds of the delicious ham left.

“We’re just so sick of ham,” she explained to me. “But I know you’ll be able to whip up something fantastic.”

So the next morning, I let her sleep a little late, I’d really worn her out the night before, and decided to make a ham hash for breakfast.

First I took bursa escort two slices of the ham, roughly a quarter pound of the meat, put it on my plastic cutting board; I always use plastic for meats, especially chicken and got my sharp knife. The front of the two slices was facing away and the back was facing me, so I put the tip of my knife in front of the front part of the meat, brought the blade down and dragged the knife toward me, cutting off a very thin ribbon of the ham. I repeated this until I had shredded the ham slices into several thin slivers.

I got out a separate cutting board and another knife and diced both a bell pepper and a small onion which went into a medium sized skillet, where I had a tablespoon of butter melting over medium heat.

While the onion and pepper were sautéing, I got out my grater, grabbed two medium sized Yukon Gold potatoes, but you can use whatever type of potato you wish, and, leaving the skin on, quickly grated these onto the same cutting board with my ham.

Giving a quick stir to the onion and pepper, which were starting to go limp, I then scraped my potato and ham into the skillet and stirred all together.

Then, while that cooked, I got out four large eggs, broke them into a bowl and whisked them with two tablespoons of milk, a few dashes of hot sauce and a few dashes of salt.

Then, I simply poured the eggs over my potato, ham, onion and pepper mixture and cooked until the eggs were firm.

Just about that time, my girlfriend came into the kitchen. I don’t know if it was the smell of the coffee, the smell of the skillet breakfast, or if the sneaky little bitch was just waiting until I was finished before making her grand entrance.

There’s nothing like eating breakfast in bed with a beautiful blonde. If she’s still here for lunch, I’ll show her how to make a delicious Hawaiian Ham Salad.

Well, her boyfriend kept texting her, kept whining about being all by himself, so my girlfriend got dressed and left. But by now, I was a little hungry again. So got out about a half pound of the ham and diced it up nice and small. With this, I mixed in about a half cup of mayonnaise, one stalk of celery, a quarter cup of chopped pecans and a quarter cup of crushed pineapple.

Most people would dump everything into a bowl and try to incorporate it but why make it so difficult? I dump the mayonnaise into the bowl, along with about a half teaspoon of freshly cracked black pepper. Then gradually add a little ham, a little celery, a little of the chopped nuts and a little of the pineapple.

I simply continue adding a little of this and a little of that, mashing with a sturdy fork until all ingredients are in the bowl and are thoroughly combined.

I then put a plate over the bowl and stuck it in the refrigerator, got dressed and went next door and asked the really cute couple next door if they’d eaten yet.

She had just started to heat up a pot of leftover potato soup, so I ran back, grabbed three large buns and my ham salad, and went back to their place.

They have a very nice place; he works at a local furniture store so gets an employee discount. While he sat at the breakfast counter, his wife and I got our lunch ready.

I’m sure he enjoyed the view; I had on my shortest shorts and his wife had on a short tee shirt and bikini bottom. They had been enjoying their hot tub when he said he was hungry.

The potato soup was delicious; she said she’ll give me the recipe for me to share with all of you. They both enjoyed the Hawaiian ham salad; it truly was a perfect complement to the soup.

Afterward, they invited me to join them in their hot tub.

The next morning, I got up before they did and made them my cream cheese and blueberry crepes…

*.*.*

May 2014

Cooking For Two. Or Three by Kathy Kroff

My mother was very upset about the nude photograph at the top of my column. I reminded her that just about everyone has already seen either me or her nude anyway; what does it matter?

While she complained about my lack of decorum, in a large skillet on medium high heat, we fried one half pound of bacon, drained and set the strips aside, but left the bacon drippings in the skillet. Then in the same skillet, I added one diced onion, one diced green pepper, and two diced tomatoes, seeded. While that sautéed, filling her kitchen with delicious smells, she whisked together five eggs with three tablespoons of milk and a little bit of salt and cracked black pepper.

While she whisked the eggs, I shredded a half a pound of sharp cheddar cheese, and then broke up the fried bacon.

Mom poured the eggs into the skillet, reduced the heat to medium, and I sprinkled the cheese and bacon on top.

I used her four slice toaster to toast up some wheat toast and buttered mine liberally. She didn’t want any butter on hers; even though her body’s better than mine she says she’s watching her weight.

Then, with her spatula, Mom divided the scramble into two portions bursa escort bayan and we sat down to eat, a mother-daughter breakfast. Just perfect for Mother’s Day. Or any time you can spend with your mother.

When I got home after a full day’s work, my girlfriend was waiting on me. Seems she’d finally had enough of her boyfriend’s whining and complaining.

“I mean, fuck, you don’t want to see some other guy’s come dripping out my pussy, don’t look,” she griped while I set about making the potato soup recipe my next-door neighbor gave to me.

I fried a 112 ounce package of bacon in a medium sized skillet on medium high heat. After I’d cooked the entire package, of bacon and set that aside, I cooked one diced onion in the bacon drippings.

In a six Dutch oven, I poured four cups of low sodium chicken broth and two pounds of cubed potatoes. Personally, I leave the skin on my potatoes, but my next door neighbor peels hers before cutting the potatoes into cubes.

I turned the burner on to medium high. Then, I scraped the wilted, almost translucent onions out of the skillet and added that to the broth and potatoes in the Dutch oven. Reducing the skillet’s temperature to medium, I dropped a stick of butter and a half cup of flour into the skillet and began whisking. Then, as the butter melted and the flour began to incorporate, I slowly added two cups of milk, whisking all the while.

The broth and potatoes were at a low boil by now so I reduced the heat to medium and added the flour and milk mixture. Then, as that simmered, I stirred in one cup of milk, adding it slowly.

Salt and pepper is to taste. My neighbor uses roughly one teaspoon of kosher salt and one teaspoon of standard black pepper. I prefer to use freshly cracked black pepper.

Before covering my potato soup, I crumbled up the bacon and added that in to the pot, stirring.

Then I turned the burner to low and covered.

While the soup simmered, in a bowl I added one cup of buttermilk and one half cup of plain yogurt. If you do not have buttermilk, take one cup of regular milk and add a teaspoon of vinegar.

Then I stirred in one half teaspoons each salt, garlic powder and onion powder. I added a teaspoon of freshly cracked black pepper and stirred all together to fully incorporate the ingredients.

Then I took a head of iceberg lettuce, cleaned off the outermost leaves and held the head over the counter, stem side down.

I brought the head of lettuce down on the counter with a solid whack, which loosened the stem. After cleaning out the stem and some of the harder sections of the leaves, I rinsed out the lettuce and put the lettuce on my cutting board. I used a large knife to cut the lettuce into four wedges. Two wedges went into a storage container and the other two went onto large salad bowls. Then I drizzled my buttermilk dressing over the two wedges.

The final step before my girlfriend and I could eat was to grate up a lot of sharp cheddar cheese for the delicious soup.

The whole time I was preparing a ‘Soup And Salad’ meal, my girlfriend’s boyfriend called and texted constantly. She of course ignored all of the messages.

Guys, this is a cooking column, but a little advice to the lovelorn; your girlfriend needs space? Give it to her.

*.*.*

July 2014

Cooking For Two. Or Three by Kathy Kroff.

My girlfriend finally had her fill of her boyfriend’s jealousy and dumped him. So, she brought her new man over for me to meet. For the occasion, I got out three large rock cocktail glasses, ran water into the insides of the glasses, then sprinkled granulated sugar all around the insides of the glasses. When the insides were fully coated, I took my trusty blowtorch and browned the sugar quickly.

Because she said he was a ‘real peach,’ into each glass, over ice I combined two jiggers of whiskey and one jigger of peach schnapps.

Her new man was a well-muscled black man with nearly nine inches of uncut meat. But he was a bit of a quick trigger and didn’t take direction very well and dressed and left in a bit off a huff.

His loss; we had excellent skewers almost ready to go on the grill.

I am an old-fashioned girl; I love charcoal grilling. Propane is just lacking some essence, some element. So, I built a tower of the charcoal briquettes, lighted them and then went into the kitchen to get everything ready.

Two pounds of stew meat had been trimmed of any excess fat and then put into a marinade of one half cup of lemon juice, a cup of olive oil, and a cup of vinegar. To this, I added a teaspoon each of salt, ground cumin, and black pepper. Added to this was one half teaspoon each of garlic powder, onion powder and cayenne pepper. I like to mix all of this into a sealable bag and use my fingers, squeezing the bag to mix all ingredients together.

Then the meat cubes are added, the bag gets sealed and then put into an eight by eight baking dish before I put it into my refrigerator. I put it bursa bayan escort in the dish, just in case the bag leaks. Generally I like to marinate meat for at least an hour, but because of the lemon juice, I do not marinate for longer than 4 hours.

Then I cut into chunks one purple onion, one green pepper, and one yellow pepper. I also had a good amount of cherry tomatoes.

The wooden skewers had been soaking in water for a few hours; that keeps them from burning on the grill.

Taking the bag out of the refrigerator, my girlfriend and I began an assembly line of onion, pepper, tomato and meat and kept going until we were out of skewer. When all the vegetables and meat and skewers were completed, the coals were just about perfect.

My next door neighbor peeked over the wall between our homes; the smell of cooking meat will bring the carnivore out, and asked if they could join us.

The two were over before either my girlfriend or I could get dressed, but to make us more comfortable, they both got undressed as well.

She requested my special vodka drink, which is very simple to make. I take two cups of water, a cup of sugar and a teaspoon of ground cinnamon and stir that together. Then I bring it to a boil on my stove, stirring constantly.

When it comes to a boil, I turn off the heat, and stir it a few more times while it cools.

The cooled water and sugar mixture is poured into ice cube trays, and then I pop it into the freezer.

I combine two jiggers of vodka and one jigger of cinnamon schnapps into a glass.

Two cubes of this ice are dropped into that drink and my neighbor goes from slightly reserved, quiet woman to happy honeypot licker.

He, of course, wanted to try my ‘real peach of a man’ drink.

I’m glad I have a king sized bed. But I don’t know what I’ll make them all for breakfast…

*.*.*

March 2015

Cooking For Two. Or Three by Kathy Kroff.

My mother asked me why I call my column ‘Cooking For Two. Or Three.’ I told her, “If you have four or more people over, order pizza; you’ve obviously got something better than cooking on your mind.”

Anyway, my girlfriend was over and she was complaining about how sore her ass was. She’d just gotten pounded up the ass by a really big cock and kept going on and on about how much it hurt.

She was complaining much in the same way one of my boyfriends likes to complain about the high insurance on his Porsche. The whole point of his complaining is to let you know he has a Porsche.

Suddenly, she stopped in mid complaint-brag and asked if there was anything I couldn’t do with bacon.

“Bet you a million dollars you can’t make a dessert with bacon,” she dared me.

Even though, I know she doesn’t have a million dollars, I got out the bacon.

I started off with a medium sized cast iron skillet; you want a skillet that can withstand the heat of an oven. I turned the oven on to 350 degrees. In the skillet I started to cook a half package, about six ounces of bacon over medium high heat. When it was almost done, I added two tablespoons of honey.

I cooked the bacon until the honey stopped its foaming, then used a slotted spoon to get the candied bacon out of the skillet, put the bacon on paper towels to drain, and reduced the heat to medium.

I then threw in a quarter cup of butter, about a half stick, a cup of brown sugar, a quarter cup of white sugar and one and one half teaspoons of vanilla extract, stirring until the butter was melted and the sugar was smooth. Then I then turned the burner off. I added three quarters of a cup of sifted all-purpose flour, one half cup of cocoa powder and a half teaspoon of salt. At this point, it is difficult to stir the ingredients.

When the pan was comfortable to the touch, I stirred in three beaten eggs. You want the pan to be warm, but not hot; if it’s hot, you’ll end up with scrambled eggs in your mixture.

I then crumbled up the candied bacon and stirred it in, along with a half cup of semi-sweet chocolate chips and when it was all well incorporated I put the skillet into the oven and let it bake for twenty five to thirty five minutes, or until a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean.

While we waited for my bacon brownies to bake, we drank coffee and my girlfriend continued to complain-brag about all the great sex she’s been getting. I did remind her that I’ve not been celibate, but she didn’t stop long enough for me to talk about the cute little red head I’ve been seeing.

When I took the skillet out of the oven, I put the pan on a folded up dish towel and let it cool. A chunk of the bacon brownie went into a bowl, with a big scoop of ice cream on top; chocolate for her, vanilla for me. My girlfriend admits, she owes me a million dollars…

*.*.*

“So, have you ever tried any of her recipes?” Bobby asked as Valerie read through the column for the next month’s issue of Parasols.

“What do you think?” Valerie smirked. “Only reason I know where the kitchen is in my condo is because I have to pass through it to get to my garage.”

She sent the column in to be printed and smiled.

“I got to say , though, the way she writes does make me think even a slut like me could actually cook some of that stuff,” Valerie said.

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