The original bromantics - Martin & Lewis
With the recent release of the Paul Rudd’s movie “I Love You, Man”, there’s been a lot of talk about friendship between guys…bromance, as it has been dubbed. Oh, fine. First they started sneaking into our hair salons, then they wanted to borrow our moisturizer now, they want friends. Just like us girls.
My husband has been away on a business trip. While he’s gone (see January 9th post), I seize the opportunity to have quality girlfriend time. That means getting together to gab over a glass of wine, walking to Starbucks, watching Desperate Housewives and…did I mention wine?
Last night over simple supper of curried turkey burgers (no bun) on arugala and wine, my friend Beate looked around my kitchen and said “This is so ro-tic.”
“Ro-tic?” I questioned.
“Yeah,” she replied. “Romantic without the man.”
It must have been the burgers talking….
Curried Turkey Burgers
1lb ground turkey breast (make sure it’s breast) 1/2finely chopped onion1 peeled and diced Granny Smith apple
3T curry powder (or to taste)
1Tcumin 2 tsp tumeric salt and pepper to taste
Gently mix apples, onion and spices with turkey. Divide into burgers (I would make two whopping ones). Heat cast iron skillet and coat lightly with canola oil. Cook burgers until they are done (about 3 minutes on each side – depending on thickness). Serve with a dollop of plain yogurt and mango chutney on a bed of fresh baby arugala.
3 Comments
April 7, 2009 at 5:30 pm
Carol: Uh … I only take exception to “sneaking into our hair salons.” I didn’t sneak in; I entered only reluctantly, when all the barber poles disappeared. When the “barber” was there, I went once a month for a trim, hot towel, hot lather, shave, and the latest skinny on the best dirty jokes and local politics (I may have that backwards) to be found anywhere.
Plus, the expense: ten times what a “haircut” costs, and the tip kills me. But, I can’t really complain; I’ll trade a litany of local palavers, even give up the hot lather on my temples for that hovering, kajoogling, perfectly-timed perfumed breasts over the sink shampoo and rinse-bump.
Sigh. With every form of refuge, a price.
April 7, 2009 at 11:01 pm
You must be a big tipper, because I just get a shampoo.
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