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Why is it….. that when I glide my finger along the pan that I broiled our steaks, where all the juices and herbs and garlic and feta (yes feta) that didn’t make it on our plates are still sitting, cooling, thickening, marinating within itself, that after my finger is coated and I make my way to the edge of the pan, the lip, to insure that it all stays on the finger up to my mouth, that the feta REFUSES to stay on, falling back to the pan, laughing at me, taunting me to “try again”.
So you do, you go again, and again… sure, you can get a spoon, but that’s just gluttonous and certainly not nearly dirty enough. Each time you get a morsel of feta, you get a little excited, you then slowly, carefully balance it on your finger, careful, up, up, up, just to get that little crumb in your mouth.
Eventually, you look down… and the pan is “clean”.
Do I feel ill after having a dessert of extra seasoned steak sauce and feta morsels? Yes…. But it’s a happy kinda illness… A happy “dirty” kinda illness.
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