Solo flight.

So, last night I prepared to wow my roomie with my newfound confidence and mad, 1337 skillz in the kitchen: I made my first solo flight with fried asparagus and baked salmon a lá Gunsmith Bob. (Because anything that lets you grab most of a stick of butter in your bare mitt and rub it lasciviously over pristine salmon steaks is just big fun to make.)

No lemon juice from a bottle or garlic from a can, either. Okay, I didn't use evaporative trays to collect the sea salt from the ocean and the pepper was from a grinder, but other than that, I did everything but catch the fish.

I carried the plates into the living room, we sat at our respective TeeWee trays, I sampled my fare... It's probably considered déclassé, if not outright gauche, to make little ecstatic whimpering noises over your own cooking, but I did. Dang, that was good. I started throwing avaricious glances towards my roomie's plate, but she managed to hoover her vittles before I was even halfway done.

I guess we can call this a success. Go Team Me!