Just because I am a teeny tiny bit sick does NOT mean that roasting Vienna sausages (what I usually refer to as tinned hot dogs) over the stove top flame is an insane idea.
To be fair, the really long bamboo skewers I was using were a BIT odd in the scale department.
But it worked.
Which was totally irrelevant to my sister’s expression ; something between the horror, concern, and withering pity one might convey, seeing half a frog hopping down the road.
Dude. Hot dogs roasting on an open fire (chestnuts? Maybe that’s chestnuts? I think it’s chestnuts. But I’m American, dammit. Or at least half American, and therefore reserve the right to substitute fast food at inexplicable opportune moments) is a whole damn song.
You’d have thought I was trying eat broth with a fork from the way she was looking at me. Or the front end (left side?) of a frog.