Minnesota lazy winter stir fry

There are several key ingredients to this recipe, which takes a full day to prepare. Well, the actual prep/cooking time is about a half-hour, but, as we know, the stage must be properly set to fully appreciate the meal.

Step 1:
Wake up. Immediately regret it. Go to work.

Step 2:
Leave work after an unbelievably mind-numbing day. So mind-numbing, in fact, that you ponder what your two college degrees has really done for you, considering a close friend has no college degree, makes twice as much money as you, and travels to Europe for a month-plus each winter. Curse yet another lame, nearly snowless winter, thank sarcastically the current federal administration for eschewing global warming evidence.

Step 3:
Go to the gym in a feeble attempt to reduce your recently expanding waistline. Realize that you are, honestly, in the worst shape of your life. Also, despite the gym being filled to capacity, it’s one of those rare occasions where there is no one you would fantasize about having sex with. Consider fantasizing about someone of your own sex. Panic, because you are left to your own thoughts, which you have already contemplated during your mind-numbing workday.

Step 4:
Arrive home. Significant other is on couch, working, grading papers, wondering aloud whether they might have a job next year due to funding cutbacks and a “No” vote on a recently proposed education levy. Consider your choice of career, how your idealism has led you down a path of unprofitability. Consider choice of significant other (i.e., Why aren’t they rich?).

Step 5:
Retrieve one bottle of whiskey from cabinet, one bottle of lemon sour from fridge, one tumbler. Place two or three ice cubes in glass. Mix whiskey and sour to taste (for this particular recipe, equal parts are recommended). Drink. Refill glass with mixture to taste.

Step 6:
Check fridge. Realize that you haven’t been to the grocery or butcher in a while. Pull one partially eaten and one full cooked chicken breast from…you think Monday night. Or was that Sunday? Check vegetable drawer. Toss one shriveled red pepper in trash. Find one good one. Toss bag of unrecognizable herbs in trash. Feel surprised to find fresh green beans and a bag of baby carrots. Dig remaining shallot out of pantry. Place all those ingredients on the counter.

Step 7:
Dice chicken and shallot. Grab handful of green beans, cut ‘em in half. Cut baby carrots in half, lengthwise. Cut half the red pepper into decent-sized slices.

Step 8:
Tell cat, which has been yowling at you for 10 minutes straight, to shut up.

Check on second cat, who you discover has been lying silently between oven and scorching radiator, to make sure it’s still alive.

Drink from whiskey sour mixture. Heat about two tablespoons of olive oil in skillet (or wok). When oil is heated, toss in shallot. After about 30 seconds, toss in green beans, followed a minute later by the carrots, and a minute later by the chicken. Cover with a plate, because you don’t have a lid for this particular pan because you bought it from the chef of a restaurant in Milwaukee after several Bloody Mary’s who used it exclusively for making German pancakes. Remember suddenly that you haven’t done anything about rice.

Step 9:
Dig out from back of pantry a box of Uncle Ben’s Wild Rice with Best Before November 2005 stamped on top. Follow directions on box.

Step 10:
Toss red peppers in stir fry, give it a couple good stirs and cover with plate again while you spoon the wild rice into a pasta bowl for a half-hearted attempt at decent presentation. Salt and pepper stir fry to taste, serve over the rice. Drink remaining whiskey sour, and prepare another.

Step 11:
Serve to significant other, who says, “You know, this is pretty good.”

Step 12:
Feel surprised when, upon tasting, you agree. Continue eating while watching PBS documentary.