A parade of bad choices.
So I attempted gnocchi. Well, I have made it in the past (and it's never been that great, so that leads one to wonder why in the hell I'm trying it again but whatever!) but I haven't made it recently. So, for whatever reason, I decided to boil them whole, skins on and everything. It's... more hardcore that way? Anyway, I remembered a past failure that involves chunky bits of raw potato in little pillows of pasta, so I made sure to boil them nice and thoroughly.
So it's very late when I finally felt comfortable enough to pull them out. Except when I mashed them I still found chucks of less than soft potato. So I thought, fuck it, food processor this shit. And there's still a little bit of the pesto I made in there, so it'll be like... pesto-y! Even though in the past I have observed the food processor motivated transformation of cooked potato to glue, I figured that I've got flour. I'm cool.
Except... not enough flour. At all. It did vaguely resemble dough, as it did manage to come together into a gigantic, gluttonous, gummy mass. Any attempt to work with the beast only served to fuck up my pastry mat. So, get more flour right? I mentioned that I decided to boil them whole, right? I started pretty late, and I boiled them for a long, long time. It was 9:30 by the time I discovered I needed the flour. Because I don't have a car, two choices were left: call up my parents and beg them for a ride, or walk up to the local corner store and hope they sell flour. Number one is certainly out; it way too late. Number two was more feasible, but... my local corner store is kinda creepy. Not to mention the fact that you have to cross a pretty busy intersection to get there. Yeah, that's not happening. So what now? I could either: wrap the primordial dough up and fix it later, or attempt to salvage it into something edible. As it was nearing ten o'clock at night, I chose the latter. I decided that I'll just fry up spoonfuls of the stuff. Fuck it, frying fixes everything.
So I moved the failure dough onto a sheet of wax paper (mainly so I could clean up my pastry mat) and started up the stove. It was at this point I discovered that no mere spoon could defeat the potato monster. It clearly wanted to devour the poor utensil. I did manage to get irregular globules into the frying pan, and they did manage to fry up into little cakes. I still did have to throw a good amount of it away; I tore up the wax paper attempting to remove the last chucks of the proto-dough.
How did it taste in the end? Edible, if rather bland and oddly chewy. But it was ten thirty. I really, really didn't care at that time.
So it's very late when I finally felt comfortable enough to pull them out. Except when I mashed them I still found chucks of less than soft potato. So I thought, fuck it, food processor this shit. And there's still a little bit of the pesto I made in there, so it'll be like... pesto-y! Even though in the past I have observed the food processor motivated transformation of cooked potato to glue, I figured that I've got flour. I'm cool.
Except... not enough flour. At all. It did vaguely resemble dough, as it did manage to come together into a gigantic, gluttonous, gummy mass. Any attempt to work with the beast only served to fuck up my pastry mat. So, get more flour right? I mentioned that I decided to boil them whole, right? I started pretty late, and I boiled them for a long, long time. It was 9:30 by the time I discovered I needed the flour. Because I don't have a car, two choices were left: call up my parents and beg them for a ride, or walk up to the local corner store and hope they sell flour. Number one is certainly out; it way too late. Number two was more feasible, but... my local corner store is kinda creepy. Not to mention the fact that you have to cross a pretty busy intersection to get there. Yeah, that's not happening. So what now? I could either: wrap the primordial dough up and fix it later, or attempt to salvage it into something edible. As it was nearing ten o'clock at night, I chose the latter. I decided that I'll just fry up spoonfuls of the stuff. Fuck it, frying fixes everything.
So I moved the failure dough onto a sheet of wax paper (mainly so I could clean up my pastry mat) and started up the stove. It was at this point I discovered that no mere spoon could defeat the potato monster. It clearly wanted to devour the poor utensil. I did manage to get irregular globules into the frying pan, and they did manage to fry up into little cakes. I still did have to throw a good amount of it away; I tore up the wax paper attempting to remove the last chucks of the proto-dough.
How did it taste in the end? Edible, if rather bland and oddly chewy. But it was ten thirty. I really, really didn't care at that time.