Last night, I decided to cook a real, honest-to-blog (I'm sorry) dinner. I used the recipe that Andrea talked about a while ago, because it sounded delicious and she SAID it was delicious, so I thought, "hmm, I wonder if this is delicious?" And so I had to make it, if only to kill my own wonder.
Anyway, the recipe called for prosciutto, and I'll be honest with you, I didn't really know what that was. I mean, I've heard it before, OBVIOUSLY, from stuff like . . . I don't know, Mama DiSalvo's and Top Chef. And so I called Joe, who would, in fact, be partaking in this delicious meal. Oh, right, Joe is new. Everyone say hi to Joe. OK. So. He didn't answer, and so I was all, "blah blah blah, I'm stupid, can you tell me what a prosciutto is?" into his voicemail. And then I thought about calling Heidi, but I remembered she was at spinning and I doubted she'd answer the phone while almost dying on a bike. And SO, I then put out an APB via text message:
Me: What is prosciutto and where in the grocery is it?
Heather Anne: I think it's like a giant sausage.
Me: I am in the wrong aisle then.
Heather Anne: Let me know if it's a huge sausage.
It is not a huge sausage. Not that I knew that at the grocery. I wandered around the meat (heh), looking at all the giant sausages (heh), but none of the sausages looked right (heh). And by looked right, of course I mean none of them said, "HEY JENNIE THIS IS PROSCIUTTO AND YOU SHOULD USE IT TO MAKE PASTA ALLA VODKA TONIGHT." And so I left the grocery without prosciutto, because I was afraid to ask anyone what it was. I almost stopped this little old lady to ask her, but she kept GETTING IN MY WAY WITH HER STUPID CART so instead I just glared at her a lot, which was not so much helpful, but it made me feel better.
As I was pulling out of the parking lot, Joe called me back.
Joe: Are you still at the grocery?
Me: No, I just left.
Me: Do you know what prosciutto is?
Joe: . . . no. Hold on, I'll Google it.
Joe: Here it is. Ha! It's HAM.
Joe: Ham. Dry cured ham that has not been cooked.
Me: Why don't they just call it ham? I know what ham is!
Joe: I don't know.
Me: Anyway, that sounds gross. Are you OK with not putting ham in the pasta?
Joe: Yeah, I don't really like ham that much either.
That is essentially, exactly the way it happened*.
*except for the part about the buck teeth . . . oh my god, Jennie, shut up.