Archive for the ‘food’ Category


Beer!  And bacon!  An unstoppable duo of awesomeness and win.


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Shameless Self-Promotion

Since I write about it so much here, I’ve decided to start an entire blog devoted to food.

The new blog is called she eats. and I’m pretty darn proud of it so far.  Hell, my first reader comment was from none other than Robb Walsh, so I guess that’s a damn auspicious way to kick off any food-related blog.

If you’ve got a second, and you like food, why don’t you head on over to the new blog?  Your patronage is much appreciated.  🙂

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After spending a large chunk of the [rainy, cold and drizzly] afternoon watching “America’s Most Smartest Model” and then reading the recaps on TWoP (good gravy-fed God, I’m a dork!) I felt the need to purge some of my other guilty pleasures into the keyboard and onto the screen, in hopes that I’m not the only one who feels utterly compelled yet dirty after watching/listening to/reading/doing the following things:

  • Riskay’s “Smell Yo Dick” — This song is seriously disgusting and unabashedly ghetto.  So why can’t I stop listening to it?  Because it’s hilarious, that’s why.  Listen for yourself.
  • Love Actually, two parts of it in particular which I’ve been known to rewatch several times in a row:
    • The entire scene where Jamie tracks down Aurelia in Marseilles, first by going to her father’s house and then walking to her restaurant with the entirety of Little Portugal trailing along behind him discussing how Aurelia is going to be sold into slavery or killed by this Englishman.  And then the proposal in the restaurant, with Jamie’s adorably horrible Portugese: “I’ve come here with a view to asking you to marriage me…”
    • The Mark and Juliet scene where he shows up at her doorstep with the flashcards and carol singers on his CD player, telling her that he’ll love her until she looks like a decrepit mummy.  Who wouldn’t fall in love with this?  Mark is far cuter than Peter, anyway.  Hee!

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  • The Darkness’ “I Believe In A Thing Called Love,” even though its brief moment was over about three years ago.
  • The new BTVS Season 8 graphic novels.  Ohhhhh, yes.  Yessirree.  I AM that huge of a dork, there is absolutely no doubt about it.  Richard was too embarassed to accompany me to the “graphic novels” section of Barnes & Noble when I went to get the first volume.  He just hung around the “sports” section, eyeing me warily and shifting his weight nervously, hoping that no one would see his wife greedily grabbing a book out of the D&D section of the store.  I don’t care; they’re the best continuation of a beloved-yet-cancelled show since Serenity.  If you happen to be a Buffy fan and have somehow missed the memo on the graphic novels, you should check them out.  They’re everything a Whedon-phile could have hoped for.
  • And on that note, Moonlight.   This is probably the most embarassing guilty pleasure of all.  I have not one single friend who watches this and my entire family is very vocally ashamed of my inexcusable lack of taste when it comes to this show.  But I can’t help it.  It’s just the right amount of camp — not too over-the-top, tongue firmly planted in cheek.  Plus, it’s got a good bit of eye candy and, really, what else do I have to do on a Friday night?  Sadly, nothing.
  • Good blue cheese, by itself.  Well, maybe on a piece of endive for some crunch.  But definitely not with any crass interlopers, like crackers.  I just like the bare taste of an incredibly strong, salty, sharp Roquefort or Stilton.  Again, none of my other friends or family members seem to share this predilection, which often means that I get an entire wedge of blue cheese to myself.  And believe you me, I WILL EAT THE WHOLE DAMN THING.
  • TaB cola.  I once wrote an entire blog on how much I still love the 80s sensation that was TaB.  I’m sure you can find it if you poke around on here long enough…  TaB is like Diet Coke without the awful aftertaste of NutraSweet.  When I go into the store to buy TaB, there is usually one sad, little pink box among the masses of other Coca-Cola products, sitting dusty and alone towards the back of the shelf.  But it’s been waiting for me…maybe for months, who knows?…and I’m finally here for it.  The various clerks always give me the same look at the checkout stand: So that’s the weirdo who buys the one six-pack of TaB that we ship in every month.  Yes, that’s me.
  • And lastly — for now, at least — all of the following websites:

What are your guilty pleasures?

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My sweet Richard ran to the grocery store tonight to grab some fresh veggies and a bottle of wine to go with the lovely fat porkchops I had planned for dinner.  In a hurry to beat the impending thunderstorm, he grabbed the first bottle he saw that looked appealing.  It turned out to be something called “White Merlot.”

I know, I know…but bear with me.

I’m generally not a fan of Merlot, or most red wines for that matter, because they’re too tannic for my poor stomach to take.  So I’m mostly stuck with lightly chilled Pinot Noirs and loads of white wine.  But this “White Merlot” — which is, really, a kissing cousin to White Zin — was fucking fantastic.  And before you heap your vituperation upon me, I know that it’s not really Merlot.  So just cool your heels, pups.

It tasted like a Bartles and Jaymes wine cooler, I’ll be the first to admit.  But it tasted like a Bartles and Jaymes wine cooler would’ve tasted to a 16-year-old sneaking her first taste of sweet, forbidden alcohol.  There was something familiar and comforting about its cloying sweetness and tangy raspberry undertones.  It was like smelling a perfume that you used to wear in high school, but haven’t encountered in twelve years; you wonder how you could have ever liked it to begin with — it’s too overt and it’s trying too hard — but there’s still that undercurrent of soft memories, first crushes and awkward homecoming dances that makes it irresistable to your jaded adult senses.

Just in case you couldn’t tell by my rambling prose, I am quite tanked on White Merlot right now.  It’s great.  I highly recommend it if you’re feeling sentimental.  Or just thirsty.  Either way…

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These two items from TWoP‘s recap of last night’s “Kitchen Nightmares” episode cracked me up this afternoon:

In the kitchen, Brian knocks back a beer and brags about drinking Ramsay under the table. Whatever, Ramsay would be on his eighth glass of whisky and you’d be passed out from his fumes.


In the dining room, Ramsay critiques the lack of atmosphere and says the lacy curtains look like “you’re going to visit your grandmother.” Yeah, if your grandmother lives in a bar. Actually, Ramsay’s grandmother probably does.

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I don’t care if he drops the F-bomb every two seconds, Gordon Ramsay can come to my kitchen any time. >:)

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Last post of the day, I swear.

When Richard’s family were over here last week, we had several very interesting discussions with them regarding whether or not they’d ever move back to England permanently.  For both his mother and stepfather (who live in a villa in Spain, but keep a house back in Cheshire) as well as his brother (who moved to Oz three years ago), the answer was a resounding “no.”

They had differing reasons as to why — for his mother and stepfather it was the alarming and steady rise in crime as well as the dreary weather, while for his brother it was the lower cost of living and higher quality of life in Oz — but all three agreed that they wouldn’t be moving back to the U.K. any time soon.

This article was written over a year ago, but it’s sad to see that the trend of British emigration hasn’t been stemmed at all in that time:

They flock unstoppably through Britain’s border crossings, thousands every week, posing a threat to social, demographic, and economic stability, according to some.

But this is not another verdict on the perils of immigration. This is about people moving in the opposite direction. Surprisingly, for a country obsessed about immigrants, Britons are emigrating in record numbers.

Official data show that more than 350,000 people leave the country every year, up almost 50 percent from 10 years ago. A recent BBC survey remarkably found that 13 percent of people said they were hoping to emigrate in the near future – double the figure from a similar survey conducted three years ago.

At least 4.5 million Britons – about 8 percent of the population – now live abroad, a far bigger diaspora in percentage terms than those of other rich countries like France, Germany, and the US. Those anxious about rising immigration numbers should take note: more Britons now live overseas than the number of foreign nationals resident in Britain.

Be sure to click the link above for the full, fascinating article. 

Richard has expressed little interest in going home in the five years that I’ve known him.  Sure, we’d like to go back to visit someday soon, but aside from the sweet, fleeting memories of his childhood at boarding school and laddish nights spent down the pub, I’m not sure that we’ll ever end up there either.  He’s become too attached to the lower taxes, the easy ability to own two cars if one so desires, the far superior health insurance (sorry, Socialists) and the sunny attitude of his now fellow Americans.

In fact, as long as I can learn to cook Cornish pasties and steak & kidney pies, I don’t think the man will ever need to go home again.

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If you’ve got time, listen to this great little segment from All Things Considered about a man who decided to create his own farm in his tiny Brooklyn backyard, complete with chickens, ducks and rabbits.

Man Lives Off the Fat of His Brooklyn Land

I can’t wait for the book to come out!

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