Shut up, you suck as a sous chef...

There are times when you realize how awesome your friends are.
They have the balls to tell you how shitty of a sous chef you actually are.

I took the bus down from NYC to DC to visit the one and only NMFB last week. It was a much needed vacation, if only for a couple days. There are some people in life who can really make you feel happy. NMFB is one of them. So is his wife, so are his dogs. (NOTE: if you visit, they'll lend you a dog to sleep in your bed. Best hospitality ever.)

We started our adventure off with a taste of zinfandel a friend of mine made. In Jersey. As his first wine. Ever.
You know when you pop open a bottle of wine that you've been waiting to try, with the trained tastebuds of a professional? You know, when you think you might've stumbled onto something great?

I was not that man. NMFB looked on while I guinea pigged a taste of what could only be described as rotten five-alive with a hint of armpit. It wasn't gut-wrenching, but it definitely required a gargle of whiskey to wash it down. Ahwell. I kinda knew it was coming.

Beer, hot dogs and Taco Bell followed, because we're classy gentlemen, and I fell asleep finally content. With an acute case of heartburn, and a Chihuahua in my bed. Curled up and content.

Days like that, you just have to breathe a mighty breath and thank your little sisters for introducing you to what you have come to know as a brother.

Life's pretty cool, you know?