No, I am not talking about the Grammys. Is it me, or was that the worst show ever? I always look forward to the Grammys. Of all the award shows, it’s usually the best ‘production’. It’s certainly the one show where anything really can happen. And often does. It’s a very unpredictable crowd, which makes it fun to watch. I also usually enjoy the music, or at least a fair bit of it.
And I’ll be honest, I like seeing just how outrageous everyone is. Whether or not they’re coherent. Just how blitzed they’ll be. Their hair, their make-up, what they’re wearing. Or, more to the point, how little they’re wearing.
It’s a freak show, but in a good way. I mean, who will ever forget a few years ago, when Lady Gaga was carried in, in an egg? There have been many memorable moments over the years. But not this year.
What went wrong, I don’t know. I’m sure the now famous CBS ‘memo’ had something to do with it. Apparently everyone attending was asked to cover up, to not show ‘skin’ or ‘puffiness’ this year. Give me a break! After all these years the Grammys have been on the air, I find it difficult to believe anyone — from network bosses to sponsors to viewers — is expecting peter pan collars and pearls from this group. Au contraire.
Most of them have so many tattoos they’d be completely covered up, if they were naked, for God sake! And ‘puffiness’?? What the hell does that mean? Portia De Rossi had so much collagen in her lips, she could have shared it with every woman in the room, and still had enough left over, for herself. Is that the kind of puffiness they meant?
Does it refer to silicone? The reference to puffiness. Because if it does, I guess we should all assume Katy Perry didn’t get the memo.
With very few exceptions, the performances were awful. The whole show was bland. And I am angry at myself for watching until the bitter end. Until 11:30. I think I kept waiting for it to get better. Good thing I didn’t hold my breath.
Did you notice that a lot of the ‘guests’ in the front row had drinks in their hands? Jay Z had a snifter of what looked like brandy. There were some champagne flutes and highball glasses around, as well. That’s kind of unusual, don’t you think? I’ve never seen that before. Not that they didn’t deserve it. It was bad enough sitting at home, in my living room, watching. I can’t imagine how painful it must have been to be there.
Personally I don’t think alcohol is nearly strong enough to dull the pain.
If you watched, I’d love to know what you think. Who knows. Maybe I’m crazy.
So enough of the Grammys. Let’s talk about the hot stuff I referenced earlier. Well, to be honest, the Grammys did inspire the idea. Well, actually it was Rihanna. She’s from Barbados. Years ago I had a boyfriend from Barbados. He used to make this soup I used to call cleaning-out-the-fridge soup. Because aside from chicken wings, every other ingredient is what you find rummaging around inside your fridge. Stuff you either have to finally use, or throw away.
Guess soup’s on my mind. Because yesterday I wrote about my mother’s chicken soup. Which I finally did cook, in case you’re wondering. Totally hit the spot, too.
Unlike my mother’s soup, which was your quintessential Jewish mama’s comforting, healing, cure for everything, my ex’s soup could have blown the top of your head off. That’s how spicy it is. I love it. But it is definitely not for wimps. I’m going to share the recipe with you, just in case you’re either a glutton for punishment or, you don’t believe me when I tell you, it can start a five-alarm fire in your stomach.
Put a bunch of chicken wings (no tips) in a pot. No set number. It depends on how hungry you are. Add West Indian sweet potato (peeled and cut in chunks), regular sweet potato (peeled and cut in chunks) and regular white potatoes (also peeled and cut in chunks). Add sliced celery, carrots and onions. Have green beans in the fridge? Cut them up and throw them in. Have wax beans or asparagus or even corn on the cob? Chop ’em up, cut the kernels off the cob and in they go, too.
Now for the seasoning. Salt and pepper. Ginger and thyme. Garlic powder and onion powder. And just dump in the curry powder. More. More. Come on, I said it’s not for wimps. More. Make sure it’s West Indian curry powder. There’s a difference. Cover it all with water. Bring it to a boil. Then turn the heat down to medium low, cover the pot and let it simmer for an hour and a half or so.
Have a pitcher of cold water handy. Have Gaviscon handy. Have the local fire department phone number handy. Have tissues to wipe the perspiration off your brow handy. Say your prayers and enjoy.
And next year, do yourself a favour and forget the Grammys.