boys night out

...prohibited me from keeping an eye on my peas. I wish that was my largest complaint about bar hopping with drunk boys. I don't care how many times I am corrected, "no, it's dude's night out."

Yeah, I was there, boys, and next time I'm choosing farmers market peas over the honky-tonks on Broadway.

So my hopeful purple hull pea experiment has gone awry. They've overcooked to a color and consistency that resembles tar and they taste a little like...dirt. I added some chicken stock, worcestershire sauce and red wine vinegar with hopes of making them some version of palatable but I won't be surprised if the situation is irreversible.