For myself, the English cucumber determines the amount of everything else. It gets down to, how much of X do I want to go with this cucumber.
An English cucumber is sliced and salted to cause it to lose its liquid. Later, they're squeezed in paper towels.
Waxy potatoes are peeled, sliced and boiled until they are tender.
See, water around here boils just over 200℉. Ain't that a shame? It means things must boil longer. And when we go up to Breckenridge or Dillan or Aspen, then it takes nearly all day to boil potatoes. And that's why we use pressure pots so much. It has the same affect as lowering altitude.
I watched cooking contests on Food Network hosted in Aspen and all the cooks were beside themselves because nothing was boiling properly. All of them. And I'm sitting here at home going, "I hope you lose. All of you. Lose, lose, lose, lose, lose.
Losers.
Ha ha ha ha ha.
Should be ham but I have no ham around here right now. For I am but a poor boy and my story's seldom told. I have squandered my resistance such are promises.
Likewise, the onion is salted to rid it of unpleasant sulfur molecules that form when it is cut. You don't want those fumes pervading the whole batch.
Potatoes are smashed with a fork incompletely, leaving chunks. Rice vinegar added while still hot and vulnerable to absorption.
Viola!
I meant to say, Voila!
It's pretty, and each element is tasty, before it gets all smeared up with mayonnaise.
Heaven. I'm in heaven and my heart beats so that I can hardly speak. But I seem to find the happiness I seek comes together when I pack this in my cheeks.
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