Well, there it is. The object of my desire. My sweet temptation. All that is good and pure in life. I'm talking about garlic.
Because this blog is a journey in growth and self-discovery through food and cooking, I feel I must be honest here, and confront my addiction head-on.
So, let me put myself out there. When I tell people I don't have a garlic press, I usually cite the more socially acceptable reason: "I'm a food purist." Not so. I don't have one because I love touching and peeling garlic by hand. Just the opportunity to hold it makes my day. I could spend hours peeling garlic, and be totally content.
When I read the various home remedies for removing the smell of garlic from hands, I nod along as if I am really quite vexed by the issue. Behind closed doors, though, I ask myself why anyone would be crazy enough to wash away the smell of garlic. The smell of garlic on my hands is like the first day of Spring. I am like the Mary Katherine Gallagher of garlic.
Even cleaning my cutting board is a treat, because the scent of garlic and onions is released from the inner depths of the block.
My devotion to garlic is so deep, I put it in almost everything I cook-even cheese quesadillas. The joy of garlic is endless.
Hopefully I haven't scared anyone too much, but I had to be open and honest about this. It feels good to get it off my chest. Now I feel that I can move forward into the next phase of my garlic-flavored future.