You know what the challenge is. To cook all the recipes from this Thug Kitchen cookbook. That’s a fuck ton of recipes. Within one goddamn year. What the honest to fuck was I thinking?!? That’s just fucking crazy. There are still 16 recipes to go but only 15 days left. Looks like I might run out of days before I run out of recipes. Shit.

Fuck it. Let’s go bowling.

Chowder. Is. Not. Disgusting.

Far from it.

I am stunned.

If I had to eat one meal for the rest of my life and nothing else…and don’t get me wrong, that would be hideous no matter what the meal…but if I had to, like really had to…I could eat this. This could be that meal.

Confessions of a Corn Chowder Consumer

Below is a picture of some corn cobs. Yes it’s blurry. That’s because I felt weird photographing random vegetables in a small town store with people staring. Especially when I had no intention of buying fresh corn.

Yes that’s right. You fucking heard me. Despite the instructions, and warnings from the Thugs to only use the fresh stuff I disregarded the shit out of this. In my almost-defence I didn’t use frozen like they specifically said not to do. I used canned.

Yes canned corn motherfucker. That’s what I used.

But here is a picture of the corn for you to feast your eyes on because that’s the most fresh corn you are getting out of this blog post.

Now on to the cooking.

I chopped what needed chopping, and blended what needed blending. Then I stirred for a bit. Then I showered. Because I wanna be clean when I eat corn.

That’s the way I fucking roll.

And it gave the soup time to simmer.

The colour of this soup is beautiful. It’s like a fucking sunset. Warm orange tones, just gorgeous.

And then you throw in the basil ribbons and drizzle in the lemon juice and it’s just perfection in each bite. I don’t just applaud the Thugs, I fucking standing ovation them.

I thought it would be some chunky grotesquery. But it was not.

I thought it would make me gag. But it didn’t.

My child even ate it. And he was happy/borderline excited even. He said to me, and these are the exact words of my four-year-old: ‘This soup is not green. It is yellow, mummy.’ And you know what? He’s goddamn right. It’s not green, and it’s goddamn delicious.

I’ve decided I’m gonna brow beat these last 15 recipes into submission. I’m gonna show this crazy challenge who’s boss.

I sometimes feel it was insane to decide to do this when there’s just so much other shit to do on the daily. But fuck it. Insanity is not unfamiliar to me. Me and insanity are buddies, we can happily share a spoon, a bowl, and a straight jacket.