Yesterday, I learned that if a person so desires, they can purchase polenta in flavored varieties. This special breed of polenta live in a special home with wonton wrappers and fresh herbs.
At the grocery store, I had a strong urge to double fist the polenta logs and squeeze.
I suppressed the desire.
Supposedly, we were at the store to pick up the ingredients for that amazing blueberry banana polenta orgasm I found a recipe for last week, but all of sudden, we’re standing by the root vegetables, and Henry says that it’s too expensive, the ingredients added together are too expensive. I’m like, "But the blueberries, they’re right over here and they look cheap. The only thing cheaper than these here blueberries is Janna standing on a corner." But he was firm in his decision, saying that he had a different meal plan in mind. I went to sit in the car, that’s where I realized that it’s not the cost of the ingredients, it’s Henry’s wavering doubt in himself, in his culinary prowess. Perhaps he needs to watch Alton Brown handle some polenta dildos, and then he’ll have more inspiration to dabble in the land of sweet polenta dishes.
Last night, in lieu of the blueberry seduction, Henry stuck with his safe and savory expertise and made some sort of polenta pizza. I think that’s what he was aiming for, at least. Patties of polenta with diced tomatoes and a cap of crispy parmesan cheese. It was interesting. Didn’t taste much like pizza, though. Might have something to do with the corn meal.
I’m having leftovers tonight.
It’s looking like a "polenta" category might need to be created, because Henry is on a roll.