Editor's Note: The dinner portion of this post is written in real-time.
As the sound of the rain hitting our awkward second-story window envelopes our apartment, we are also greeted with the smell of "burning meat." In all actuality it is the smell of glorious taco meat browning to perfection. Yes interwebs, as I type this post, Ann Ham is cooking us dinner. I should add that she is also dancing to our apartment song.
I must say, she looks very much at home in the kitchen. This might be due in part to the fact that this is our home and our kitchen.
It appears that the taco seasoning has been added to the meat. I can smell the chili powder and it smells delicious. The taco shells are in the oven and I am beginning to become politely impatient. There's something magical about tacos. (That pretty much sums up a taco, right?)
These are not our tacos. Ours are not yet assembled but I needed proof that taco magic is real.
Oh dang! The shells are out of the oven. The timer is beeping like something vulgar was just said on prime time television. Ann Ham just announced that dinner is ready! Oh happy day!
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