On three separate occasions over the last couple of weeks, I’ve extolled the virtues of tofu to skeptical friends, claiming that: “It’s really good, you just have to cook it right. Which isn’t that hard, really!”
Which explains why my dinner last night looked like this:
What the hell, tofu? The moment I finish singing your praises, you decide to go all lumpy-dog-food on me?
My neat little tofu cubes broke down faster than an old Yugo when they hit the marinade. I pressed it as usual (paper towel wrap with a book on top) and the marinade was nothing strange (soy sauce, ginger and sriracha and a splash each of sesame and canola oils).
I don’t get it.
At least it tasted pretty good. Smothered with chili garlic sauce.
So if you happen to be one of the people I’ve recently tried to sell on this stuff? I recant. It’s not super easy to prepare. That little block of fermented soy is a fickle bastard indeed.
In unrelated news, to the four people who found my blog this morning by searching “Hot and Mean”: thank you, I am flattered. One step closer to my dream of being a smarter version of Regina George.