Living the life of luxury isn't easy, unless you know the shortcuts.
The quickest and easiest path to happiness isn't through hard work or lofty goals, but by simply lowering your expected standard of living. That way, when a blip of the high life passes by, you're damn sure to soak up every drop of it.
Shrewsbury-raised David pretty much wrote the book on willfully lowering living standards, so watch him put his culinary skills to the test with an Amherst special I call:
So why would anyone even make shortbread?
The Scots would say because there is tradition with shortbread, that they use recipes passed down from generations of shortbread eating ancestors, that shortbread is the true sugar cookie, and a bunch of other halfassed answers.
The truth is that shortbread is the laziest, cheapest way to make cookies, requires almost no planning of any sort, and is made with three ingredients. Which makes it an ideal recipe candidate for David here.
When I think of meager, I will remember this refrigerator. 80% of the food in it is from the last person who moved out, and for the past week these people have been living off of frozen soup and bag-salad.
David here took advantage of one person's leftovers and helped himself to a couple sticks of properly aged butter.
List in hand, David scours the food shelf for the last two ingredients, namely sugar and flour.
No matter how properly one can stock a kitchen, it is sometimes necessary to borrow some of the more rare ingredients from your downstairs neighbors.
Here is a picture of David doing just that.
At this point, our shortbread adventure hits a shortsized snag. The directions call for 'spinning' the sugar and butter together so what does he do? He calls his friggin mom.
What a friggin heartbreaker.
Dave then proceeds to spin the butter and sugar together. With a fork. This is a tedious tedious job, especially when the butter is still hard as a rock.
So into the microwave it goes. Which is exactly what any other chef would do.
So during this whole event we have housemate Manny sitting on his high horse critiquing poor David to no end, saying such things as "Ay man, my grandmammies con-con tastes'a much better than this European shit you're always making. Give up already."
Manny here is enjoying the flavor of a fine Philly Blunt, which can reach prices up to fifty cents.
Fucking lap of luxury these people.
I promised you tea and here it is. I don't know where David found this tin, but we brewed a whole pot of it while David was spinning.
Let me tell you something. I thought tea was either black or green, but apparently there is a third flavor that is called nasty, and Dave found a whole tin of it.
I once thought that anything can be made better with sugar, especially harsh bitter tea.
This was not tea. This was nasty with water. The sugar did nothing.
And now some hilarious pictures of people drinking said tea:
James decided that the tea could have used a splash of honey which might have brought out some of the vanilla that just fluttered beneath the taste. He also mentioned that the cinnamon flavor contrasted poorly with the slightly charred aroma.
Manny thought the subtleties of the tea were overwhelmed by the exaggerated presence of Valerian root, leaving little to his olfactory senses.
Whatever. Just keep spinning the butter and sugar together and add some flour when you feel like it.
At some point you are going to need to kneed the ingredients together into a hard doughy mass.
You can just feel the love in this picture.
Use a roller to spread the dough out onto the pan. There is no need for any sort of greasing or any other preparations. A freaking infant could make shortbread its ridiculous.
When it's all spread and done, your are going to need to punch some holes in it before putting it in the oven, to prevent rising.
Funny shapes and bad political graffiti are encouraged.
Cooking the shortbread takes a hell of a long time, so we brewed and enjoyed a nice cranberry tea while waiting for it.
Holy shit this was so much better than the other kind. Cant even tell you.
The wacky folks at Amherst like to play a fun game called "Trash Topple". The object of the game is to balance as much trash as possible in the bin until it topples over in a heap of garbage and giggles.
The loser of the game is always James, who is on permanent trash detail because he doesn't like doing the dishes.
And they wonder why they have ants.
David also found some of Suzanne's old croutons.
There we go. Boom. Done. I don't even care. I wont even make a joke about the variety of objects on the table. This damn article was long enough.
Goodbye and goodnight.