My lady doctor gave me strict instruction that I need to start taking vitamins. I’ve put this off for a really long time because I’m a gigantic baby and suck at taking pills. I do that melodramatic thing where I fill up my mouth with water and then stick the pills in my mouth and then swallow. Sometimes I do like a little gag reflex thing…and then realize there’s no one around to feel sorry for me. Womp womp.
Anyway, I heard through a friend-of-a-friend that Trader Joe’s is the place to get those adult edible vitamins, so I went and she was right. And they’re not just “edible,” they’re deliciously edible! You mean I can take my daily vitamins in form of a gummi bear? Even though it was “candy,” I still expected it to be sort of disgusting. But whoa, before I knew it I ate, like, half the bottle. I’m sure this is awful, right? The bottle said take one…I took 10? Maybe 15?
I’m not sure what’s worse: too little vitamins, or too many. And I also did this on an empty stomach, but it was perfect timing because the batch of the carnitas that was on the stovetop was done, so I assembled two of these things and I felt a little better. Overly vitamized…but better!
[click to continue…]
“My lady…”
“Your Grace…”
“Lady Adrianna…”
“Your Lordship…”
I wish someone–at some point in my life–would address me with one of the titles listed above. It would make my day if I walked into my coffee shop and the barista was all like, “Lady Adrianna, would you like a cappucino or your usual cup of Coava?” And then I’d be all like, “Ohhh Alex, I’ll take the Coava, thank you.” And he’d be like, “Of course, Your Grace.”
Umm…hello!!! How rad would that be?!?!
I’ve clearly been watching too much Downton Abbey/Game of Thrones. Clearly.
But let’s be serious, even if I did live back then, I wouldn’t be a princess. I don’t have a single drop of blue blood running through these veins.
My life would probably be spent in some dark basement kitchen making crazy meals for the royals. And I’d probably be really happy there, because unlike the “Lady,” I’d get to marry a dude I actually liked. That’s pretty huge. Imagining spending your life with some boring rich dude?! That’d suck, big time.
[click to continue…]
Confession: sometimes I’m a brat. This is totally true. Sometimes I’m sleepy, my eyelids are heavy and I just want my way, like, right now.
Currently, if I could get my way in all things life, this is how it’d go:
1. More hours in the day for me to work and say hi to friends.
2. I’d be able to drink copious amount of gin without having an awful hangover face. I can’t swing it–not a youngin’ anymore, guys. Depressing.
3. I’d drink coffee at 9pm and still be in bed by midnight. I’m totally not sensitive to caffeine at 8am, but it ruins me after 6pm. Truly unfair.
4. At Chipotle I’d be able to assemble my very own burrito. They’re very nice people at Chipotle but I just wanna do it myself.
When I’m sensing my brattiness is taking over my usual good and positive nature, I gotta put myself in check. ‘Cause seriously look at what I made! Look at what I have had in my life! Crispy hash browns! With cheese! All topped with a runny egg. Such a good look!
[click to continue…]
Phew! I didn’t mean to be away this long. I missed you all!
I figured I’d take MLK day off, and then a recipe failure happened. And then I had to jump on a plane to head back east to bury myself in the work that I’ve been putting off for weeks. Procrastination, I hate you.
But good news: I’m here, working diligently and it’s awesome. I’ve been in this really awful anxious mood for the past few weeks, so all this doing, writing and completing feels refreshing and wonderful. SO, I’M BACK! And I brought cheese to this productive party, my dudes and dudettes. Cheese!
[click to continue…]
I arrived in Florida (where my parents live) exactly two days ago, on a red eye flight. I was sitting next to the most adorable baby in a onesie. We said hi, we smiled…we became friends.
And then she totally betrayed me. An hour into the flight, she started bawling her eyes out. And didn’t stop…for the. next. four. hours. Right then and there our friendship ended, obviously. Her poor mother…she was doing everything she could. Nothing worked.
So, instead of sleeping with my eyes closed, I tried to sleep with my eyes open. You know…where you just stare REALLY hard and try to take your brain to a newprettybetter world, like, immediately?
I thought about Christmas morning…oh Christmas morning. Does a cozier more lovely place even exist? I think not…
This year I have nothing to do with Christmas dinner. I bowed out since I cooked all of Thanksgiving dinner.
Instead, I’m on the sidelines mixing cocktails, making playlists, drinking cocktails…
[click to continue…]
This may be a total shocker to some of you, but in third grade I was not the cool girl.
Definitely not the cool girl. But I also wasn’t the weird girl, the girl that smelled nor the girl that was super jockey and athletic.
I was just way normal. Like really normal. Too normal for my own good. So I’m pretty sure I just kinda faded into the background…
The cool girls were the sprightly blond ones. Their hairs were always French braided. They wore a lot of pink. They were talkative and outgoing. The boys liked to punch them, in a good way (I think). And they had awesome packed lunches. (Read: Lunchables, Cheetos, Snack Packs.)
I was like, the antithesis of the situation you just read.
My dad thought it was a genius idea to buy me boys’ tennis shoes because he thought they were “designed” better. So yeah…I have him to thank for that. I was shy and quiet and observant. And my hair was frizzy and always sort of a mess. My mom, nor I, could French braid despite how many times we tried.
And my lunch…ugh…my lunch was always kind of lame. Think like, hummus, crudites and…arroz con pollo. Tell me! …how is a child supposed to be cool with yellow rice in their lunchbox?!?!
But now…I’m a totally different person. I know how to use a blow-dryer. My clothes are better. That lunch would actually make me excited. And I know how to do regular braids, French braids and fishtails. Yeah…I totally graduated to braiding pro status.
Despite who you were in third grade, everyone can braid this cheese danish. Everyone.
[click to continue…]
I have another potato with cheese (and cheese) and butter recipe for you.
I swear I’m not trying to kill you; it’s just I like cheese.
I kinda figure it’s like math…you know, two negatives make a positive, OR depending on your life perspective, two positives make a big gigantic cheesy, calorie-filled positive. I consider myself a super optimissitc person, so I’ll go with the latter.
If you are too, then hop over to PW’s Tasty Kitchen blog where I did a guest blogging situation. You’ll find: step-by-step pictures, the recipe and me waxing poetic about cheese and butter. You know, THE USUAL!!!
LOVEYOUBYE
P.S. I’ll post a recipe of some salad soon. Or not.
I’m never the girl that’s super prepared for things.
I wash my clothes only when I start wearing mismatched socks. I wash my hair when I can’t go another day. I only buy paper towels when I start using bath towels to clean up messes.
And the list goes on…and on. And on.
I think it’s just that I’m really good at wingin’ stuff. It’s how I like livin’…
The only season I actually prepare for is Fall. I dig it so much that I can’t just can’t help it.
I buy sweaters while it’s still hot outside. My boot game starts to get good when I really should be wearing sandals. I have 30 minute conversations (in September) with my dad about turkey brining plans.
And as of right now, I have thirty-two Fall-ish recipes written down in a notebook that I can’t wait to make. Yeah, I’m way prepared.
[click to continue…]
Hi!
I know a few days ago I was totally publicly flirting with Fall, talking about pumpkin this and cuddle that and apple cider whatever…and here I am posting this recipe with slices of heirloom tomatoes and fresh pesto.
I’m sort of all over the place, but that’s what you get during this awkward period between seasons. My brain isn’t sure what’s appropriate. My heart knows to look for cheese for the answers…
[click to continue…]
Sometimes I’m attracted to food because of its motion. Let me explain.
I love pulling a slice of pizza from the pie and seeing all the cheese strings flail in the air; only to then sword the cheese with my finger, breaking it off for good. That’s rad.
I love imagining (and watching) a kernel of popcorn exploding and transforming into a buttery, movie snack. Popcorn is the butterfly of the food world. Think about it.
I like when I pour a beer and flirt with the idea of it overflowing…and then it does. I always give a bratty smirk when that happens.
I like watching the little craters sporadically show up on the surface of a pancake.
I really dig bubbling, simmering tomato sauce. Lots of things simmer…tomato sauce, hands down, is the prettiest.
And then there’s the stream of a bright yellow yolk that gently flows out of a fried egg.
Food motion makes me hungry. Wait, does this mean I wanna eat motion? Is food motion even a thing?
Moving on…
[click to continue…]
