Jamie Oliver wants to make me a Better Cook. And you know what? I want to let him. Not just because I want to reach up and tousle his slightly windblown yet actually styled and product-filled hair, which I do, but because he helped me make white beans better than I’ve ever had before. I love me some white beans, so that’s saying a lot. I want him to come to my house and take over my neighbors’ backyards so I can grow my own chard and potatoes and heirloom purple carrots and raise chickens sustainably although I will kill and eat some of them but not do the killing part on live television because the reaction that generated was maybe not so great.
Also there was filet mignon. And creme fraiche. And in retrospect some part of this was supposed to include a “knob of butter,” which I totally forgot but it was delicious all the same.
The fun had to come to an end sometime. No more FABIO!! No more Hootie-hoo. On the plus side, no more Leah, no more Hosea, and no more dickweed Colicchio. Still, my Wednesdays will be empty. So, two questions: Who wins fan favorite (cough)FABIO!!(cough)? And what next – are there any other cooking shows that don’t completely suck (cough)Chopped(cough) that we can rip?
In any case, we have one more beautiful night together.
I know, I know, it’s very nondescript. Look, I didn’t have any fucking chives, okay? Get off my back.
I think I’ve finally found the source of all my mental health woes: Food-related blog events. Who knows how many people have been rendered incapacitated by the Daring Bakers or Tuesdays With Dorie? We’ll never know, because they will never tell their stoic tales of woe because food blog events are FUN, goddamnit, and no one wants to hear about the emotional pain they can cause. FUN, d’ya hear me?
PS: No clot.