It’s a beautiful Friday afternoon. I’m going on a date with my adorable spouse. Tomorrow, I might bake a pie and plant the vegetable garden.
I feel better than I have in months. I probably just jinxed it by writing out for mass internet consumption, but I wanted to tell you. So there you go.
Let’s all take a moment to remember the halcyon days of Top Chef. Even with the constant indignities of Bluehost’s ineptitude, it was leagues better than this sad excuse for a show. Let’s also remember that you, the public, were allowed to vote on what would happen after Top Chef. Let’s recall that you could have chosen “no liveblogging.” Let’s further remember that you voted for Hell’s Kitchen. I’m not blaming you. I’m just remembering.
Tonight, either it ends or I do. Top Chef, I will never forsake you again.
There’d better be some gunshots or an explosion on Hell’s Kitchen tomorrow night, or at least a high-speed motorcycle chase through the streets of Los Angeles with Gordon Ramsay and a helper monkey in a sidecar, because it is shocking how badly these Wednesday night Smackdowns are throwing off my week. Really, it’s like I’ve become unmoored in space-time. For what? Thanklessness. And you know what the worst part is? I do it to myself.
It’s National Doughnut Week! And you don’t have to feel guilty, because it’s for CHARITY. Lucky sods.
It occurred to me this afternoon: “Hey, I have a Twitter account! It’s been at least three days since I told the world about the details of my lunch!” I’d written some nonsense and was scrolling through my follow-ees when I saw a link to a post by the Pioneer Woman to her series on creating a successful blog. I enjoy success, so I thought I’d check it out. Imagine my dismay at rule #5: No F-bombs. Because “it takes more literary creativity to write something interesting without including the f-bomb.” **
(This ties into awesome shit, I promise.) (She said nothing about the S-word, so I assume I can still be successful following this post.)
Okay, yes, I’ve made pancakes for dinner before. On a Monday night, even. But these are DIFFERENT pancakes. So there. To be more specific: buttermilk pancakes with pine nuts and citrus, topped with ricotta sweetened with candied pineapple and ginger, with a raspberry-orange coulis to cut the richness. Yeah, I know, it sounds kinda like dessert. It tasted kinda like dessert too, and I am not complaining about that. Who complains about dessert for dinner? I mean, I’m certifiably insane and even I’m happy with dinner pancakes.
Okay, so turnout was pretty crappy, which you gotta expect when the organizer herself wusses out on the event. And then one person completely neglected the whole “theme” thing – is there something about my readership that renders you congenitally unable to read rules? – meaning a full 20% actually weren’t participating at all. So the maddest of props to the five of you who churned out some cheap-ass food, with slightly diminished props to the person who didn’t follow the rules
I mean, I let that one in, but with the full awareness that we’re totally going to talk about her behind her back.