Peanut butter. Chocolate with peanut butter (so much so, that this was our wedding cake flavor combo). Peanut butter and bananas. Peanut butter cups. Giving my dog peanut butter and watching her try to lick the stickiness off of her palate for a full five minutes. It’s the simple things.
These cookies are TOTALLY simple. We’re talking five-ingredients-simple. Sure, they are a little sticky and you might get the batter all over your sleeves and maybe in your hair…but that’s just something that happens. You might not even realize that you still have peanut butter cookie batter all over your forearms before you go to answer e-mails and your arms stick firmly to the top of your desk. Peanut butter is sticky. That is a true story. I probably should have titled my blog “Wait… Do I have food on my face?” to which the answer is almost always a firm YES. I write to you as if you have my same problems. I shouldn’t do this. You probably have way less food on your face and in your hair on a daily basis. I admire you. Continue reading →
Look-y here. I’ve managed to make you something that isn’t breakfast. I’ve apparently been on one serious breakfast-y kick. I’ve been turning out waffles, quiche, and smoothies galore. I point out the fact I’m bringing you something non-breakfast since I am pretty sure tomorrow (or at least soon) I am posting something breakfast-y. Sorry (not really).
So…yesterday got weird. Mostly because I’m me and can’t seem to stay off the internet no matter how terrifying it can be. I had a weird tingle in my leg, which I promptly Googled (bad move). Don’t do this, friends. Don’t Google every twinge or tingle or pain that happens in your body just because you can. I’ve been telling myself this for years, but I can’t seem to take my own advice. When you Google a symptom, no matter what your symptom is, it usually leads to “OMG, I AM DYING!!!” Since I was experiencing a weird leg tingle, the sage and soothing advice of the interweb made me believe that I was probably, most likely, right in the middle of a stroke. Things got dramatic. I started pacing back and forth, thinking “OMG. I am having a stroke. This is not good. This is extremely bad.” The dog looked at me suspiciously and without major concern. Aren’t dogs supposed to be sympathetic? Geez. Continue reading →
When you are a kid, there’s pretty much no vehicle more awesome than an ice cream truck. It’s sugar on wheels. I remember the ice cream truck targeting our neighborhood since it was filled with kids. My brother and I would perk up, then in a joint effort run to our parents. “Can we PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE get some ice cream?!” It was as if nothing else mattered and maybe we could possibly die if ice-creamy goodness did not hit our lips in the next two minutes. Sometimes the ice cream truck would travel to our house close to dinner time, and the answer would be no. In these cases I remember the world ending a little bit. There was some light pouting, maybe some foot stomping. My brother, who is six years younger than myself, would either follow my pout-y lead, or in a true act of excellence THROW himself on the floor. We were dramatic. Mom ignored it. Good move, mom. Imagine what we could do if we had an audience! Continue reading →
I am back. I can breathe out of my nose. It basically feels like the first day of spring. I want to click my heels and dance with my hands waving in the air. I want to do jumping jacks. I want to bake cookies. I want to do anything that is not struggling to breathe while lying on a couch and watching terrible daytime programming. I want to eat anything but chicken soup. If I eat anymore chicken soup, I fear I will actually transform into a chicken. This would make my cooking/blogging life difficult. Wings don’t have thumbs, making it very hard to type and even harder to lift things like pots or baking sheets.
Enough of that. I haven’t left the house for more than ten minutes at a time in the last six days. Forgive all preposterous declarations of what life would be like if I was indeed a blogging chicken. It would be hard, that’s all I am sayin’. Also, I would probably not make you things like quiche. Chickens don’t eat quiche. Aren’t you happy I am not a chicken? Continue reading →
You know that moment when you open your eyes and you can feel that your face is puffy? You reach over to your nightstand in hopes that your fingers will meet a glass of water, but instead you just end up unplugging a lamp, knocking off an alarm clock and dropping your cell phone. The headache sets in. A headache that can only be described as “this is what happens when you mix champagne with gin.” Or, “this is what happens when you mix half a bottle of champagne with gin.” OR, “this is what happens when you mix half a bottle of champagne with gin, eat animals from both land and sea, have butter as a legitimate side dish, swear you are not going to have dessert and then eat half of a chocolate bar, pass out on the couch in a sloppy champagne fueled coma” situation.
Sounds like another successful Steak and Lobster Day (or shall I say “Valentines Day” for all you non Steak and Lobster-ers). The husband got home a little bit early. We cooked together. I spiced up the steaks and got to work on our side dishes. I whipped up a mashed cauliflower with garlic and wilted chard situation as well as a Greek salad. Peter cooked our meat to perfection, melted some butter and mixed us some cocktails. I had planned to get a bottle of wine at the grocery store, but in my intense steak and lobster excitement I managed to forget. Instead, we went rooting through our cabinets and found a a bottle of champagne. We then proceeded to make ourselves French 75′s. This is a cocktail that combines gin with champagne (yes, this might be a red flag). Of course once we opened the bottle of champagne we decided that we could not let it go to waste (Perhaps we are the red flags?). Continue reading →