Himalayan pink salt it is. How exotic. You prepare a careful saline stew on a low heat for 17 minutes, before transferring to a mild saute with rosemary sprigs. Mmm... this is starting to smell good! You run outside and grab a hand full of delightful Earth Angels to toss into your saline solution. “Oooo... this needs garlic!” you think as you delightedly crush and toss a little in. The aroma permeates your childhood abode. When the Earth Angels just start to crisp, you flip them out, roll them in bread crumbs and artisanal flour, then toss them back in at a full on fry. Oooooo! You can hardly wait to try this amazing delicacy you've just improvised, but don't want to have your accidental mastery lost on a solipsistic experience. You dial up the police and command them to get their butts over to your abode pronto to investigate a murder. While you wait, you prepare places around your ancestral table. Nice plates; the good china, crack a bottle of hooch from your mom's “No go” cabinet. Throw some flowers in a vase, light some candles. Oooooo! This is nice! Maybe they need an appetizer though? Some lady fingers? No... that's going too far.
When they finally arrive, they seem slightly reticent to have a seat and attempt the meal. You haven't really hosted a dinner before, so you aren't entirely sure what the proper protocol for all this is, but you are fairly certain you aren't supposed to jump on the host's neck while handcuffing them. Oh well.... the art of the tasty flame has been ignited within you, and you just got a real nifty idea for sauteing Earth Angels in a pruno / snitch blood glaze. Life is good!