earlier this week hh and his pal ted, aka bert and ernie, found some rather high horses to poise atop.

there, they both boasted, ad nauseum, their expertise in deciphering the varying choices of vanilla ice cream the world has to offer. i’m pretty sure i remember the words:

no, chance we couldn’t tell french vanilla from vanilla bean from vanilla. etc….

it was if i had asked these two apes what their middle names were; which, given the right day, might take them a beat or two.

if smug were an outfit, these two would have chain stores rivaling GAP.

my hands were tied. i had to challenge this non-sensical big talk.

i went to ralphs and purchased EVERY flavor of vanilla ice cream i could find.

second, came the blindfolds.

the girls, i think, just wanted some ice cream…..

this is where it started to get a little patty hearst for my taste……

each was given a sheet of paper with the names of the vanillas. they merely had to number the order in which they tasted.

the most correct was………………two.

hunky hubby ernie got them all wrong. {big smile}

you would think victory would be my most coveted memory of said evening, but tis not.

this here momofuku crack pie (aptly named) is still coursing through my memory veins fondly.

after making us the entire momofuku meal of miso cod, brown rice, stir fried, farmers market vegetables, and berries, bert finished it off with homemade crack pie.

he is officially forgiven for any prior vanilla pomposity.