When I was 18 I went vegetarian for nearly six months. During that time I lived entirely on Morning Star farms buffalo-style ‘chick’n’ nuggets and hummous. I ate so much hummous that I was having to make a new batch every other day. I had no recipe; I just threw the ingredients together and spun them in the CuisinArt until they had reached maximum yum.
Since then, I’ve eaten hummous out but I’ve never gone to the trouble of making it. Until today. And jumping Jesus on a pogo stick, was that stuff good. First I went the classy route and heated up a tortilla and dipped conservatively. Then I moved on to some pretzel sticks. Then I abandoned all semblance of manners and just stuck my finger in the stuff and licked it off. I’m not proud. But it was too delicious for me to be totally shamed.
What is shameful is the horrible, horrible stinky gas I’m releasing all around the house right now. So to hummous, I say this:
Hummous, I love you.
I don’t know where to start.
But I know precisely where to end–
With stinky, stinky farts.