I'm Sorry, Old Chum

Hey everybody.

It's time for an "Oh, Bev." It was originally going to be lighthearted. Then she pulled some shit last night, followed by shit tonight. Now you get the lighthearted one. You also get a rant.

But first the lighthearted bit! This "Oh Bev" can be said with a slightly dismissive but mostly amused tone, kinda like, "Oh, you wacky hooligans, putting a hat on my mailbox. When will you learn that mailboxes don't wear hats?"

Apparently there's a manifestation tomorrow- I don't know about what, but it's apparently education based because some teachers at my schools are striking (of course), but I'm not, because I think the children of France are better served by me working, and it's they that I serve, really, rather than the French government. Yeah, that's right- Rob makes himself look superior because he doesn't want to get docked pay.

Anyway, that's just backstory. This is the Oh Bev.

The other evening, Bev said that she would go to the manifestation tomorrow, if the weather was good.

What.

I mean, I get that it sucks to be out in the rain, and I get that the French seem to love going to manifestations. Hell, I love them too, when I can go- the food there smells great, there are lots of parades and people and stickers, and who doesn't love parades and people and stickers? Okay, fine, I can get not loving parades and people necessarily, but stickers? That's a sad life.

But to decide not to go to a manifestation because it's raining? Really? You crazy, Bev. You crazy.

And now I rant. And this is why I have the subject- I'm sorry for what I'm about to put my blog through. I... I'm just really pissed. Like, absurdly pissed. Not in the fun British way either. In the hot-blooded, American, "Let me declare war on something because I got me some anger to work out" pissed.

Every once in a while, Bev makes me a meal. Likewise, I share one with her. Nothing too fancy- pasta and cream sauce with chicken from me, maybe some fish and salad from her, things like that. Generally, my food gets criticized ("The rice is too sticky," "The pasta is too firm," etc.), but I like how it tastes, so I brush it off. I don't criticize her stuff, because, a.) it's good, and b.) I don't think it's right to criticize something someone made for you. It's the footie-pajama problem. If Aunt Flo gives you footie pajamas that you hate, you still wear them when Aunt Flo comes around. You at least wear them once to let people see them so they can tell Aunt Flo you wore them and how much you liked them or something along those lines.

But hey, Bev means well, she usually says it's good aside from this one issue, and I know that my rice and pasta have some issues sometimes (though the sauce, AKA the important part, is generally pretty solid).

There's also the issue of Bev believing that she has to give me all sorts of unsolicited advice and tips in the kitchen, and because she said them, and because she "knows what she knows," it's clearly the... freaking gospel (the time for swearing will come, don't you worry little F-bomb. Your time in the Enola Rob is coming). For example, she's a believer in the olive oil school of pasta (add some olive oil to keep the pasta from sticking together). I was not raised in that school, and having (finally) tried it both ways, I prefer without. But she will still INSIST that you need to add olive oil, and otherwise it's crap (more or less).

And that brings us to our second Oh Bev moment. And this and the third one are not funny, wacky moments that just make you wonder a bit, but hey, no harm done. These are... freaking death glare Oh Bev moments.

Monday night, I'm making some rice to go with my red beans and sauce. I'm not super at making rice, but whatever, it comes out as rice, albeit a bit overcooked sometimes, and I eat it, and everything's groovy. Anyhoo, having had some bad luck with rice cooking uncovered, I try it about half-covered this time. Bev comes in and is doing her cooking thing in the kitchen and says, "Normalement [Note: God do I hate this word. Let's go with a translation of normally- I just hear it so much from her and in her arguments with Elmo (the new name for Bev Jr the female) that it has taken a super condescending tone], you don't cover the rice." And I'm feeling a bit antsy, because she and Elmo are in the kitchen working on cooking, and I'm trying to get out of their way, but I was in there first. So I reply (pretty calmly I might add) with, "Well, I think it depends." To which she gives a, "Well, I know what I know," while basically throwing up her hands.

Fast forward a few minutes, and I'm taking the rice off. She asks if it's sticking together a lot, to which I reply no- it was a bit overcooked maybe, but not terribly so. And I go to attend to other things, and she looks at it, and gives it a dismissive laugh that I hear through my headphones and do my best to ignore.

Wow Bev. You're good at this politeness thing, aren't you?

But hey, she just didn't think my cooking was that great on that one and was trying to give advice on something that she's aware that I've had trouble with now and again. Far out. No worries. Honestly, got this ranted out to Kara (who is a wonderful person for listening to me rant about shit like that), and wouldn't have made it to the annals of Oh Bev (if annals they may be called).

If not for tonight.

Tonight, I was making some Bourtheto for Bev and Elmo. I had made Bourtheto for the first time on  Sunday for a CouchSurfing thing in Melun. Fun times were had by all, and the people there REALLY enjoyed the soup. Hooray! So of COURSE I'll let Bev and Elmo have some- heck, Bev was watching me make the soup and wanted some and was nice enough to let me borrow a pot to take with me, so I figured she deserved a chance to taste the soup, which she complimented at the time!

I proceeded to ask Bev if she'd rather I make the bourtheto tonight or tomorrow (while at the Monet exhibit, or rather in line for the Monet exhibit but that's another story, so I could get back to make it if necessary). She said she'd be back tonight around 8 PM and that she'd prefer I do it tonight. Groovy. Easy enough thing to make, just needs some chopping and mixing and we're pretty much set.

8 PM rolls around and I've got the soup on its way- not quite there, but close. Gotta add the fish and let that simmer for about 20 minutes and we'll be good. Of course, Bev isn't home yet, so groovy.

8:20 rolls around. I'm about 2 minutes away from being done when Bev gets in and talks to Elmo and some of Elmo's friends who are around (I think doing some stuff with dreads but possibly learning letters and numbers and colors- I had my headphones in, so it's hard to say).

8:25 rolls around. I've taken the bread out of the oven where it was heating, I've got the soup ready- just adding some parsley as a last touch- and Bev comes in and asks:

"So what are we having with the soup?"

For your reference, dear readers, bourtheto normally has tomatoes, onions, white fish, and potatoes. I throw in some beans as well for good measure, but very little. It's a pretty hearty soup. As a result, I respond with:

"Well, Bev, it's a pretty hearty soup." To which she says something along the lines of,

"Oh, I know there's fish in it, but I don't think that'll be enough. I think rice would go well with it."

I take the hint, but am rightly pissed- I've been working on this soup for the past hour or so (easy, but time consuming with the chopping and moreso with the finely chopping so as to feel more manly), and Bev comes in to say what should go with my dish. I respond with a slightly (okay, more than slightly) angry but still controlled:
"Okay, I'll make some rice, but I'll take about 20 minutes." I honestly do not think we need rice- bread is implicit and will go fine with the soup, and the soup really is pretty goddamn hearty. I also don't want to be up until 9 cooking, because they'll take forever to eat and I'll be stuck at the table and I need to get to sleep so I can work tomorrow (I would be in bed already, but this needed writing. I'm currently an hour behind schedule. Thanks Bev.) But I make the mistake of being overly accomodating, like I do, and start to make the rice.

A couple of minutes later, and a conversation with Elmo (basically, "Wow, that looks like a hearty soup." "I know, right? But your mom doesn't think so." "Oh. Is that why you're making rice?" "Yep.") later, I've put the rice in the boiling water. NOW Bev comes in and says that she had forgotten about the potatoes, and boy, I guess it is a really hearty soup and we don't need the rice, huh? But we can have it anyway. (Bev ends up being the only one who eats any of the rice at dinner. The rest comes with me for lunch tomorrow. Bitch.)

I make the rice. The soup, rice, and all that get out there. We start eating. Oh, also, the implicit bread? Apparently not implicit. That will also get used by me tomorrow. If they use it, I will be rather ticked. If they get mad at me for using it, they get a rant.

Anyway, we start eating. And their response? "Oh wow, the potatoes aren't cooked." Admittedly, to their credit, they proceed to compliment the soup afterwards and Bev remarks that it's bizarre that they weren't cooked after the were on the stove for as long as that. Me, I thought they were a bit firm, but there's nothing wrong with a bit of firmness, even in a soup.

And yes, through all of this, I made some key errors. I didn't tell Bev about the potatoes. I didn't refuse to make the rice. I didn't mention the bread and assumed it was implicit.

But that does not give you the right to guilt me into adding something to a dish I'm making.

What the FUCK Bev? Where the FUCK did you learn- oh yeah. Here's the other good part.

Remember in the last Oh Bev when I mentioend how she believes there's this medical mafia? She's been on that the past few nights, and how drug companies run the world and keep good, alternative medicine down (alternative medicine including theories that HIV doesn't cause AIDS, by the way), and how they prevent drug discoveries from happening because it would keep them from making money.

Wait- what does Rob sorta want to get his PhD in at MUSC? Pharmacology and drug discovery? So Bev is basically insulting his hopeful future profession in medicine AND in science?

And this brings me back to my interrupted question.

Where the FUCK did you learn tact?

Seriously, my chest is hurting a bit because I'm so pissed. I need to get out of Combs this weekend- I can't take Bev this weekend. At all. Trains will get booked and I will get the fuck out of dodge, because I don't need her shit right now.

Sorry about the profanity. And I'm sorry this rant wasn't as funny as the boron rant.

Fucking boron...