One of my favorite “single-person” meals is a baked sweet potato with about three tablespoons of butter on top. It’s the most delicious thing to eat when all I want to do is sit on the couch and watch a TV show. I love the act of eating something and watching something. In film school, I’d go to Chipotle right before class and sneak a burrito into the theater and sit in the back while watching some super artsy movie. It was very much against policy to eat in our school theater, but I couldn’t help it–I wanted to watch the movie AND eat.
Whenever I do go to the movies now, I always try and convince Josh to get a burrito before, but he always wins because his argument about sitting down at an actual restaurant like a real human versus sneaking burritos in my purse is a valid one, you know. Sooo…now you know my single-person/gossip TV meal. This gratin is a hella fancy version of that…sorta.
This is Thanksgiving-table worthy. It’s cheesy and slightly sweet and delicious.
Hello sandwich with apple cole slaw (sans mayonnaise)!!
I’m actually not a mayo hater, I just kind of dislike it in my cole slaw.
A few weeks ago the super nice people from SweeTango sent me an email and asked me if I’d like to try their apples. Of course I enthusiastically said yes because it was sweltering at the time and I was yearning for fall to arrive.
I’m not exaggerating when I tell you that SweeTangos are some of the best apples I’ve ever had–they’re SO crispy, perfectly sweet and slightly acidic. As I bit into the apple and walked around my apartment, Amelia started jumping after me like a lunatic because she’s obsessed with foods that make noise. I don’t understand this, but if I’m eating crunchy chips she will not leave me alone. It’s something about the noise. So, basically my point is that these apples are crazy crispy, in a good way, of course.
While I love to bake with apples, these are better suited to be paired with something, maybe cheese, maybe in a salad or simply enjoyed on their own. I’d categorize them as fancy-ass apples. Kind of high-end, if you will. If you live in LA, you can find them at Gelson’s grocery store. If you’re located elsewhere, no biggie, they’re sold nationwide. I’d like to discuss this sandwich, please.
The summer heat has hit Los Angeles and all I want to do is turn up the AC ’til it’s totally freezing, curl up in bed and watch Breaking Bad, but I can’t…because I don’t have AC, so basically I’m dying. A lot of people think Los Angeles is this smoldering, super hot place, but it’s actually fairly mild. Like, the winters are cold and the summers are summery, yes, but the nights get chilly. I likez it.
This whole week people have been freaking about Miley Cyrus; but for me it’s been all about grapes. Sorry Miley and your stupid tongue. Also, those big mascots scared me.
There’s a grocery store that rhymes with Schmole Foods and they actually sell heirloom tomatoes in the dead of winter. (Or at least in California they do.) Heirloom tomatoes in winter go for about $9 a pound, which means that if you tried to make this jam in January, it’d cost you a bajillion dollars. A BAJILLION!
I’m not one to typically take expensive fruit or tomatoes and cook them down and make jam. I always feel like it’s a bit of a waste to use fancy produce to make jam or jelly. Eat ’em raw, put them in a salad, toss them with pasta. You know, stuff like that. Not jam. “Seconds,” as they call them, however, are kind of perfect for jam. They’re the rejects. Jam is perfect for rejects. Jam is forgiving and actually appreciates overly ripe produce that’s on the verge on being tossed. Pies are kinda perfect for rejects, too.
In another world, I’m a southern grandmother who’d love nothing more than to invite you into my rambling old house, offering sweet tea and using the persuasion of pie as a way to force you into listening to the stories of my youth. I’m probably dressed in a mumu, a floral mumu, and my house shoes are actually cute. And let’s be honest, I probably don’t have a corgi, but instead some sort of mangy, one-eyed lapdog. He’s cute.
If I did a good job and talked you into staying for dinner, there’d be some sort of salad with buttermilk ranch dressing and my absolute favorite…spoon bread. I love traditional-straight-up-no-twist spoon bread. It’s fluffy and custardy and if you make it at the right season (read: late summer), it’s sweet and rich. I love the addition of cheddar cheese and charred corn. But my absolute favorite is the sweet corn-spiked milk that is the base of this recipe. It makes it delicious. I mean, it’s practically drinkable.
If I did my job, you’ll want to make this dish in a mumu with rollers in your hair. I support this. Here’s the link on PBS Food.
I’ve officially turned into one of those women who looooves going to Target. I honestly used to despise going there (it felt too errand-y), but two days ago I went for a very short list of things and then went INSANE! I had to use every ounce of self-control in my body not to spend like $500 on random shiz that I totally felt like I needed/wanted/needed. Throw back Lisa Frank folders were speaking to me. And I mean…the cosmetic section? Wha! Amazing, hello! Their Nate Berkus home stuff? Like, really really cute. And their bathing suits? Not too shabs at all.
Their summer stuff section made me so excited about 4th of July. I may have bought cute s’more skewers, two jumbo bags of marshmallows and a few boxes of graham crackers. Also am pretty stoked on the fact that I have this donut floaty in my possession right this very second. P.S. I should’ve bought a basketball pump because my cheeks hurt from trying to fill this dang thing with air.
Are you a hand-shaker or a hugger? Like, when you first meet someone and you don’t know them, but you sort of know them, like you’ve emailed before, do you go for a hug or the handshake? Is it gender specific? I feel like I’m more likely to hug a lady than a dude. But for the most part I’m totally that weirdo that goes for the hug when people go for the handshake. And then I have to be like, “I’m a hugger, soooorrrry!”
I’m usually secretly hoping they don’t have a weird complex about people touching them. I’ve known people like that. And those people haaaate people like me. Also, I kind of hate when people are too touchy-feely. There’s a happy medium to be had, man.
1. If I never see Lena Dunham’s boobs again, I’ll be ok. We see them too much, I think.
2. The best way to procrastinate is to look through Kim Kardashian’s Instagram–pure gold!
3. I just found out there’s a corgi walk in Portland, where like hundreds of corgis go on a walk together. And it dawned on me, just as I was mentally planning a trip to Portland, that I actually can’t go…because there’s a good chance that’ll I pass out in the middle of the street from all the cuteness.
4. I’ll never get sick of putting on warm sweats straight from the dryer. Best feeling EVER!
5. Spring cleaning feels amazing. I feel lighter, cuter and quicker. I have no idea why it took me so long to get on the Spring-cleaning-bandwagon, but I did it (a little) on Saturday and loved it. I mean, I didn’t love it, but I love the results.
I put things in cute mason jars and wrote the contents’ names on the front. I must’ve spent a solid fifteen minutes just staring at them in organizational amazement. And not so surprisingly, organizing made me want to make things with the contents I forgot I had.
Like everything else in this world, I have an opinion about Irish Soda Bread. For years I thought that Irish Soda Bread should stick to being traditional.
Not that I’m a traditional girl, by any means, but I dunno…there’s something to a recipe that’s purpose is to be made, eaten and enjoyed with minimal ingredients, effort and time. Irish Soda Bread’s history is rooted in this notion, so to make it fancy just seemed rude.
So, when it came to make traditional, normal Irish Soda Bread I really wanted to stick to the plan, but I swayed.
Butter lured me, so did whiskey, as it always seems too. The added additions and tweaks are welcomed. I mean, a lot of people complain about traditional Irish Soda Bread tasting dry, crumb-ey and just overall bland.
This Irish Soda Bread is the exact opposite of all of those things.
And I’m pretty sure it mostly has to do with these raisins…soaked and macerated in Irish Whiskey.
I love a free sample at the grocery store. Like, LOVE. I mean, it doesn’t mean I always like them, I usually don’t, but that doesn’t stop me from snacking. Sometimes my grocery lists are exhaustive and I need a lil’ snack break, you know?
A few years ago I was perusing Whole Foods around the holidays and they had one of those goat cheese logs rolled in dried cranberries out for the public to sample. You’ve tried this, no? It’s the simplest/most genius concept in the world: tangy goat cheese cheese rolled in sweet and tart dried fruit. SO GOOD!
I stood there and ate like half the log of goat cheese by myself hoping no one would realize that this girl couldn’t pry herself away and leave. That thing became a problem. After that when I needed a quick appetizer for guests (also known as just myself), I’d copycat that appetizer from Whole Foods.
A few days ago I was in the mood to make cornbread. (I don’t get in good moods, bad moods or sad moods. Instead I get in biscuit moods, roasted chicken moods or, what brings us here today, corn bread moods. It’s weird.)