Comfort Food – Because The Best Revenge For A Cheating Girlfriend Is Getting Fat So No One Else Will Love You

16 November 2008


Disemboweled Pot Pie sez: "Get those kraut bastards, Jimmy. Get 'em for me. And... Jimmy... Tell Betty that I love her."

Believe it or not, folks, but The Chef’s Prerogative has days when he’s down.  Days when the truffles aren’t as delectable as they should be.  Days when staring at the mirror watching how awesome he is doesn’t seem to cheer him up.  Days when the McRib goes away for another interminable hiatus.  Sometimes, and I’ll only admit this to you, The Chef’s Prerogative even has days when cooking the same old delicious, unspeakably beautiful fare isn’t enough to bring him out of his funk.  It is on days like these that The Chef’s Prerogative calls on his reliable, Scottish amber mistress, to rendezvous with her in a crystal palace.  This generally does the trick, as the mood on Black Out Island is always carefree and easygoing.  Naturally, the next morning has a way of being all manner of insufferable, but that’s what Jim Beam and coffee is for!  On those very special days, however, when it feels like Ms. Glenlivet won’t be able to alleviate my foul mood, I find that comfort food tends to pick up the slack and do precisely what it’s named for.  My favorite comfort food combines the tradition of chicken soup, the greatness of puff pastry, and the handsomeness of me making it.  Yes, my favorite comfort food is chicken pot pie.  If you make it right, it should give you the feeling of being nestled deep in Nigella Lawson’s bosom while the two of you float on a mid-autumn cloud during a Bengals bye week.


I'd like to English HER muffin. And by "English" I mean "talk to her," and by "HER muffin" I mean "about current events." Because I'm such a gentleman. And liar.

I hate to break it to you, but for this dish to reach maximum levels of comfort – I’m talking “sitting in front of a fireplace in a cabin at Vail while Feist sings you a lullaby” comfortable – we’re going to have to make our own chicken stock.  While a little intimidating to the average home chef, making one’s own stock is actually about as easy as your sister, though less clingy and annoying.  And, after all, you’ll have me to guide you through the process; at least until I see something shiny, at which point, you’re on your own.

Quick note: some people may say that only the top of a pot pie need be covered with puff pastry for it to be complete.  These people are not your friends.  In fact, these people are undoubtedly evil, and probably secretly want to use your lifeless corpse as a toboggan, on which they can shoosh down a mountain of hopeless souls who are soothed only by the sound of Cerberus’ tortured and tormenting cries.  They’re bad people, you see.  So let’s put a fucking crust on the top and  bottom, shall we?


These people either neglected the bottom crust, or they're Steelers fans.

Exchange Money for the Following:

Whole chicken
Pearl onions
Peas (frozen)
Celery, Onion, Garlic
Thyme, Bay leaf, Rosemary
Puff pastry
Butter, Flour


To make the stock, you’re going to have to go borrow a big-ass – and aptly named – stock pot from your neighbor (or, if you’re British, your “neighbour.”)  While you’re there, see if she has the rest of the ingredients, too, or, alternatively, if she’d like to see your wang.  Put a chicken in the pot to make Herbert Hoover happy, and cover with Kabbalah water.  Also throw in your cut-up vegetables (carrot, onion, celery, and turnips), along with your herbs and spices (thyme, rosemary, bay leaf, halved garlic clove.)  Bring to a boil, then simmer, uncovered, for forty-five minutes.  Your only jobs during this time are to skim the surface of oil and other shit, and rock out to Weezer’s blue album while remembering how much better it was to be young.  Take the chicken out with your bare hands, and cook down the stock a little more.  Strain and remove solids.  What you have left over is your chicken stock.  Oh, by the way, go ahead and shred the chicken while you’re at it, and we’re all set to make some pot pie.


Oh, sure, you could use canned stock and store-bought chicken... I just hope your conscience can handle sad cat's suicide.

 Go make a special trip to Bed, Bath, and Beyond to get some medium sized ramekins.  Once you get home, put the stock pot back over medium heat, and make a roux in that bad boy.  Slowly pour in your lovingly-made stock, and simmer for fifteen minutes while you watch an episode of Frisky Dingo.  Fold in the onions, chicken, carrots, peas, and celery, add salt and pepper, and keep warm over the heat produced by your melancholy.

Roll out your puff pastry and cover the bottom and sides of your ramekins (incidentally, “ramekin” sounds like a character George Lucas would invent and then subsequently ruin with overbearing CGI, right?).  Poke some holes in the bottom, and bake for ten minutes at 350.  You had no idea, but you were “blind baking” right there – see how good you are?  Awww, who’s a good chef?  You are!  You are!  Once your bottom crusts are done, add in your stew, top with the remaining pastry, brush with egg wash, poke some holes in the top, and bake for twenty minutes.  You now have a dish so comforting, so all encompassing in culinary compassion, so exceedingly cloying in its succor, that you’ll forget that your girlfriend was not only cheating on you with your best friend, but also taught your dog to be gay.  Bitch.


Gay dog sez: "I'm just experimenting. Experimenting FABULOUSLY!!!"


One Response to “Comfort Food – Because The Best Revenge For A Cheating Girlfriend Is Getting Fat So No One Else Will Love You”

  1. Benjamin said

    This is one strange blog, but i have to say i was laughing like crazy

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