The time is upon us: The First Thursday in October. You know you want in. Instructions here. Prize is ubercute.
I demand your orange foods, however you choose to interpret that command. I have a fever, and the only cure is foodstuffs related to the word "orange."
Get crack-a-lackin'! Want the badge? Code after the jump.
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Alternate Title: I'll dutch your baby anytime, hot stuff.*
*Because a dutch baby is a kind of big, fluffy baked pancake often filled with apples. Not because I'm trying to come on to you. Although if I knew you, I'm sure I TOTALLY would.
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GOOP: Hair gel, anal lube, slimy children's candy or heinous new Gwyneth Paltrow website?
Probably all of the above. My ass chappage goes to 11, baby.*
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You are cold-hearted poeple who enjoy reading about failure, so I was going to appease your horrifying bloodlust and go all Thomas Keller on your asses. On my ass. On someone's ass. Whatever, there was going to be food and probably horrifying failure. And ass. Lots and lots of ass.
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Sometimes scrambled eggs with jelly are just scrambled eggs with jelly. Plum jelly, to be precise. Not that I would ever want to eat those particular scrambled eggs, but I can't deny their inherent egg-ness.
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It's like the unreleased B-side to Morphine's "French Fries with Pepper": Spaetzle with Jelly*. It fits into the song structure and everything! It's now stuck in my head! 9-9-99, I hope I'm sitting on the back porch, drinking red wine, singing oooooh....spaetzle, with jelly.
Problem is, this is not that thing.
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It's not that I don't like spicy foods, it's just my heat threshold is low. Very low. Kind of like an infant, or maybe a puppy. Brian, on the other hand, has been known to eat actual fire for shits and giggles; his favorite hot sauce is called "Sweet Death" and every bottle comes with a skull keychain. (Clearly, I'm not in their marketing demographic.)
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...that I don't have to go through the trouble of digging out a butter knife every time I want a peanut butter sandwich. You know how it goes: you want peanut butter, but you end up smearing it all over your forearms and the cat and then dropping the knife down the garbage disposal which ruins the disposal and that's the FOURTH ONE you've had to replace this year and the peanut butter smeared all over the cat attracts coyotes who block your way to the car so you can't get to Home Despot anyway and DEAR GOD ...
My nuts are salty, yet sweet.
I had big plans for tonight. Big. Huge. I left work at a reasonable hour - 4:30! A train was leaving just as I got to the subway station. I was all set to get home around 5, scour the cookbooks for a recipe that would use up all my CSA tomatoes and tomatillos and the pork loin I had defrosting, smack it on down, and then make cupcakes for the admin assistants at my office who've proofread 300 pages of copy for me this week, because I am a fucking sweetheart.
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I read the original poster's caption, and I'm still guessing daylily.
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