A few months ago, I wandered down to the kitchen at work and found all the sous chefs gathered around the stainless steel work table, all dipping chunks of bread in to a bowl of orange coloured dip. Oh this? It's the last of the roasted red pepper dip we made for the reception last night, dig in.
I took one bite -- one spectacular, life changing, soul affirming bite -- and lurched for the phone. I called my Manager and hissed, "GET DOWN HERE NOW."
Manager and I proceeded to shovel amazing dip down our gullets until we were (frankly) asked to leave.
Fast forward to today. My birthday falls over the weekend, so I knew my office would have a cake for me today. We're big on birthday cake in my office. No one is left out, everyone gets a cake. The problem, of course, is that I don't like cake, I have a very limited tolerance for things that are sweet, and the cakes at these office parties are always at least 95% pure sugar. YUCK.
So I suggested to Manager a few weeks ago that perhaps we could have some red pepper dip for my birthday. Manager had been with me on that fateful, cream cheese based day, so she was on board immediately. And we both started hounding Chef to make it for me, we brought it up at least twice a day.
BIG SURPRISE, this afternoon everyone paraded in to my office with a platter of crisp tortillas, toasted bread, and a BUCKET of yumminess.
At first my co-workers seemed a little unsettled by this unexpected turn of birthday events, but as each of them placed that first taste in their mouths, the cries of "Oh-mee-od" grew increasinlgy louder. Oh-mee-od, of course, is how one says Omigod when one's mouth is full.
We ate and ate and ate. And then the allotted 15 minute celebration time was over, and everyone returned to their respective offices. Except me and Manager. WE sat in my office, shovelling dip, wishing for glasses of wine.
About a half hour after the feeding frenzy ended, I waddled to her office. "Manager, weird question, but does the roof of your mouth feel funny?"
"Yes! Does yours???"
I immediately got on the phone to the kitchen to ask what was in the dip. Roasted pepper, shallots, cream cheese, garlic.
"Raw garlic?" Yeah.
"How much garlic??" A staggering number of cloves was named.
"No way, I could barely taste it." Well, that's cause I just made it, it takes a while for the garlic flavour to emerge.
TURNS OUT that, based on conservative estimates of our own gluttony, Manager and I consumed about eight cloves of garlic EACH in less than an hour. My mouth is as dry as sandpaper, and something tells me that, when the garlic starts escaping from my pores, I will end up sleeping in the spare bedroom.
Happy birthday to me.