Having recently moved into a new home, I can tell you I have a lot of things. I’ve had to take stock of these things and move them from one location to another. This is the time where I might find boxes of high school love letters and poetry, a sweater someone from Norway once gave me as a gift, bins of yarn — some of it tangled — and two leather trench coats. I will tell you that all of those things I mentioned are still in my garage. In fact, a lot of things are still in my garage. It’s been about four weeks since we’ve moved into our new place and I haven’t needed any of those things. Part of me wants to set fire to the clutter and be rid of it (although I’m fairly certain my land lady would be pretty miffed). All of those boxes gone in one blaze of horrifying glory. Yes, this is the lazy part of my brain speaking. The part of my brain where arson seems like an easier out than organizing a craft closet. Continue reading
Don’t get too excited. I didn’t juice a donut (not that I’ve never considered it).
Instead, we’re juicing the glorious donut peach. That’s right. No, it’s not filled with jelly or fried to perfection. It is simply a sweet little variety of white peach that looks like it has been smushed into the shape of a donut. They are also called Saturn peaches. Perhaps it’s because they are simply outta this world… amirite? See what I did there? Of course you did. Oh, what’s that? We’re ignoring that joke and just moving on because you’re doing me the solid courtesy of letting it slide? Gosh, I appreciate you. For reals.
Perhaps it’s one of those days where we should get right to the recipe. The next joke I have in my brain involves a rocket ship. Don’t ask. Really. It’s Thursday. Officially the day in the week where my brain turns to cheese and puns fall out of my mouth with no regard for their quality. I’ve officially pulled the third rotting banana this week out of my handbag, and I’m eating cold meatballs for breakfast. Jealous? Don’t even get me started on my outfit. It’s like MC Hammer meets laundry day meets covered in dog hair. Can’t touch this. *Insert uncomfortable pelvic thrust dance moves here* 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