Aw, Bitch Please (with those damn roasted chick peas)

Oh, food trend. You fucking hipster. Fine. You got me.  And lawdee lawd, do you suck.

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The meta blogs are all roasted chickpea this, and roasted chickpea that. And Billy loves him some chick peas. So I started to think,  my that sounds delicious! They must know something I don’t know! Surely roasting them will not return them to their pre-cooked state, as my girlfriend T. jokingly asked at Happy Hour last. 

Wrong. 

First batch – she-who-shan’t-be-named’s recipe states 400* for 40-50 minutes, stirring occasionally. Results? Bits of charcoal, quickly tossed in the carport to avoid stinking the whole house.

Second batch – (after recipe research and comparison, and the determination not to be bested by a garbanzo bean) 375*, 35-45 minutes, stirring occasionally. 

Seasoning – pimentòn ahumado dulce, garlic and onion powder, flaked kosher salt, olive oil. 

Peas – one 14.5 oz, drained rinsed and dried (but not peeled. The Goddess gives us fiber for a reason, people.)

Oven – convection @ 375*

Second batch – stirred every ten minutes. Not bits of coal this time, but rather a range of barely a crust on the outside to T’s predicted rock-hard state.

But, here’s the thing. The first bite or two you really taste the seasonings, and think “hmmm” and can possibly forgive the erratic textures.  Possibly. But after that? You’re just munching on this sometimes almost soft, sometimes break-your-teeth-crunchy canned-chickpea-flavored stuff.  

Don’t be fooled by the hipster food – it’s fucking with you.  Not even one of Bill’s super amazing Bloody Marys could  make me want to eat this shit.
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