May 2010

Lovelies! It’s Summer, aren’t you excited? I am, and this is coming from the girl who writes love letters to Winter.  This week the anticipation for Summer hit me like a ton of bricks.  I’m having a fun-filled Memorial weekend with Sex and the City 2 (despite the bad reviews), a screening of Purple Rain at Hollywood Forever Cemetery, BBQs, a birthday party, and I also plan on setting a bit of time aside to down a few of these cute little milkshakes.

Summer has got me so giddy that I thought it was time I roast some marshmallows (over my gas range) and throw them in a blender with vanilla ice cream–it’s absolute craziness.  I think you should be crazy, too.  It’s only fair.

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I never had “cool” cereal growing up.  My parents jumped on health-freak bandwagon in the early 90s and never looked back.  They bought a juicer, and soon we were drinking lunch; they started boiling cabbage and making these weird soups; we never had real milk anymore, it was all rice and soy milk.  Obviously, at that moment, I knew the potential for mornings filled with Captain Crunch and Corn Pops were long gone. It really put a cramp in my sleepover style since the morning after all of us girls were subjected to a few boring options: Kelloggs plain, boring as hell corn flakes, or my Dad’s buckwheat pancakes.  Yeah, not bisquick with Aunt Jemima syrup, but buckwheat pancakes with real maple syrup.  Now, as an adult, I’d leap at the latter, but when you’re nine and donning Care Bear PJ’s with three of your best girlfriends, the former is where the fun is at.   So when I picked up Kim Boyce’s Good to the Grain, I was a little hesitant.  Is everything gonna taste mealy? Is it going to taste too grainy, and all “healthy-like”? Are the muffins going to weigh 10 lbs? I’d baked with whole wheat flour and oat flour before, but my experience was really limited, and associated those types of flours with being healthy, something that of course I’m concerned with, especially in the month of May when the possibility of being in a bathing suit is one wretched heat wave away.

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“When are you making that Gouda sandwich?”

This is the question that Chase has been asking me since we moved to LA. See, in my humble hometown of Hendersonville, North Carolina there is this utterly adorable sandwich place called The Pampered Palate. It’s super tasty and ridiculously cute. On the menu they have a sandwich that is deceptively simple: Smoked Gouda croissant with tarragon mayonnaise. I took Chase there once, ONCE people, and he hasn’t stopped talking about it since that happy event three years ago.

I think that my initial reason for putting off making this sandwich is that I’ve been convinced it would be a disappointment. I mean, it sounds too simple, smoked Gouda, a croissant, and mayo with tarragon added. But this thing was so freakin delicious I couldn’t help but think that there had to be some secret ingredient they weren’t mentioning. Something that made this a sandwich worth talking about three years after eating it. Turns out, it’s just further proof that amazing food doesn’t have to be complicated or use crazy ingredients. I made this in roughly 10 minutes, and after tasting it I immediately remembered  why this sandwich has been in my head all that time. [click to continue…]

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For the most part growing up, I was a pretty good kid.  I never got in huge trouble or needed long-term grounding.  But on the few occasions when I did get sent to my room for a few hours, I remember it really hurting my feelings.  My first instinct was to make my parents “pay” for being so mean to me, so I’d usually find myself mumbling, “Well, fine…I’m just…I’m just…gonna run away!” I always dreamed about the moment when my parents realized I’d skipped town and how bad they’d feel about being mad at me in the first place.

I had a really romantic image of what running away was, and I blame it all on Snoopy.  He had that perfectly straight tree branch with the blanket wrapped around.  It probably contained all his prized possessions.  Whenever I envisioned packing my own little knapsack, I thought of all the cool stuff I’d take with me. Like my Cookie Monster! And some UNO cards for entertainment, some Capri Suns for when I got thirsty and some flaky biscuits for a snack.  

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Okay, I know what you’re thinking. Enough with the strawberries, right? Sorry folks, it has been a truly outrageous season for strawberries, and I can’t help but buy a full crate of them every week. I’ve debated as to whether it’s possible for me to be sick of strawberries, and the definite answer is that no, it isn’t. I can eat them every day, with every meal.

However, I can only cook so many recipes at a time before I start to lose my steam. My original plan with this week’s crop of berries was to bake up a strawberry pie. However, when I started thinking about making the piecrust and the pie filling on a gorgeous Saturday afternoon, I lost momentum. So I made a crostata. A crostata is kind of like a lazy person’s pie, so we got along really well. It’s a simple dough that doesn’t require much kneading or shaping, and the filling is just berries tossed in a sugar and topped with a jam glaze. Seriously easy. And the best part? I prepped and baked this whole thing up in just under 2 hours and still had the rest of my Saturday afternoon to lay by the pool. [click to continue…]

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I find this strange enjoyment with ringing myself up at the grocery store’s self-checkout.  I love pressing the touchscreen, looking up produce numbers, and scanning each product’s bar code. After thinking about it for a bit, I realized it all goes back with my ambitions as a kid to be on Supermarket Sweep.  Do you remember that show? Oh my, how I wanted to wear one of those brightly-colored sweatshirts! And those gigantic name tags! Oh and my strategy. Umm…can we talk about the strategy that went into that game? Everyone knows that you go for the most expensive stuff in the store first. Like the turkeys or hams. And then you grab all the over-the-counter drugs, and then you move to the cereals or liters of soda. Man, they really need to bring that show back. It’s so 1990 in the most awesome way possible.

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We’re friends right? I mean, I like you, and if you like me then I guess that means we’re friends. So I can tell you about my guilty pleasures. What exactly is a guilty pleasure? It’s something that you know without a shadow of a doubt is bad for you and has no business being in your life, and you still think it’s wonderful. When it comes to TV shows, I am obsessed with the Real Housewives on Bravo. Notice how I didn’t specify a specific city? That’s cause I love all of them. Regardless of how loudly Chase or my friends tell me that these shows are trash TV and are a dredge on society, I still can’t help but be enthralled with the meaningless drama that consumes these women’s lives. Go ahead and judge me, I’m used to it. (Oh, and for anyone that watches, I’m totally on Team Bethanny)

Now, my food equivalent of a guilty pleasure is fettuccine Alfredo. Maybe you’re wondering why Alfredo is a guilty pleasure and not chocolate cake? Here’s the thing about unhealthy foods, you have your items like cookies and cake, that make no pretense of what they are: sugar and fat, plain and simple. Then you have things like fettuccine Alfredo that tries to convince you that it’s dinner, perhaps even part of a well balanced diet. Don’t be fooled though, this entire meal is two things: starch and heavy cream and I LOVE it. All you health nuts can yell at me all you want, you can tell me how fattening it is, how each bite is clogging my arteries, you can give me your estimates on how long it’s going to take me to exercise off this fat, and I will smile at you over my plate of steaming pasta, complete undeterred from eating the whole thing. [click to continue…]

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I firmly believe that the human population is broken up into two types: people who adore mayonnaise, or those that vehemently despise the stuff.  I, on the other hand, am a bit of a hybrid of those two people, like, if they had a kid, you would have me.  I love mayonnaise, but only if I don’t have to make it.  The minute I throw egg yolks and some oil in a blender and see the emulsification process, my stomach tightens and I’m coughing on my knees, and am physically unable to spread the stuff on a slice of bread. But if it comes pre-made, in a jar, with the label Hellman’s or Duke’s, I’m all about it.

For mayonnaise fans, it has the ability to make things taste exponentially better. It adds awesome flavor and moisture to all sorts of things. Got a Chick-fil-A sandwich that’s a little dry? Add mayo! Need a sweet dipping sauce for French fries? Take a cue from the French, and use some mayo! Wanna make the lightest, most moist chocolate cake ever? Yes, that’s right, add mayo!

The mayonnaise in this cake actually replaces the vegetable oil that’s typically called for.  And it sorta makes sense if you think about it, since all mayo really is is egg, a little vinegar and oil.  And since this chocolate cake is so unusually light, I didn’t think twice about pairing it with chocolate frosting, which I typically would never do.

So to all you mayo haters, give mayo one more chance and make this cake. I think it deserves it.

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Looking for a new job is scary. Mainly because interviews are scary. You dress up in uncomfortable clothes that you hope make you look “professional,” then march into some unfamiliar office to have a conversation with someone you’ve never met. And not just any conversation, it’s a conversations about your overall skills and value as a person. I normally spend most of the interview trying to make sure that I don’t smile too much, and worried that my armpit stains are going to start to show-an unfortunate side effect of my nervousness is that I begin to sweat profusely. It definitely doesn’t make going to interviews any easier.

So then, after I’ve babbled on to the woman or man sitting in front of me about how I would be happy to mow their lawn on the weekends if they would only give me this job, I get up, walk out, and immediately begin to kick myself for things that I did or didn’t say. It’s brutal, tortuous, and just plain awful. The minute after an interview I need comfort, and can only think of getting home, changing into yoga pants and spending the remainder of the day watching Sex and the City DVDs while drinking iced coffee.

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{UPDATE! Your sweet words were a riot to read–thank you so, SO much for them. Dooms day is this Thursday and I’m taking your advice and stockpiling gelato, various other ice creams, making homemade mashed potatoes (Ree’s recipe), and pureeing some vegetables, since many of you said I’d get sick of sweet stuff pretty quickly. The two chosen winners, at random, are:

Comment #28

and Comment #47

Let’s talk giveaway. Everyone looooves free stuff, especially me. Vanilla beans are super amazing. And super beautiful. So is lavender. Two lovely people will win one set of goodies from The Spice Station, my favorite LA spice store.  One set includes a bag of five organic vanilla beans and a bag of dried, beautiful lavender. To win, simply leave a comment below, contest closes Saturday at noon. What type of comment? Interesting you ask.

I need words of serious encouragement.  I’m getting my wisdom teeth pulled next week, and all I want is my momma.

One thing I learned this week: having wisdom teeth doesn’t result in wisdom. If I was wise, I would’ve had these things yanked out in high school and had my mom take care of me. Moms are good at that.  They take care of you like no one can.  Their sandwiches magically taste better, they can fold your clothes much neater and better than you ever will, and when they feel sorry for you, it’s like the coziest thing in the world.  Moms are the best. I know mine is. And if I lived in the same state as her, I’d make her this dutch baby this weekend. It’s perfectly beautiful. It’s screams Spring. And is dusted with lavender sugar! Amazing. Calming. Perfect for a Mother’s Day Brunch.

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