He has a way with words. It's one of the many reasons we've made it to four days after our seventh anniversary. He also has a way with making ground meat into puppets while he's working with it, which is only slightly less endearing than his impressive lexicon.
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It's Monday and that means yes, here I am with dinner based around an ovum protein source.*
*Another synonym for "egg," from thesaurus.com: cackleberry. I am so not shitting you.
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As previously established, the best way to food blog is to write about food and how you might have prepared it without actually producing any food. The second best way, as it turns out, is to have your husband do the actual cooking while you sit on the couch with your new MacBook Pro - did I mention I got one of those? - and do a real-time play by play.
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Just in case you were wondering, there is nothing, literally nothing I would rather do in this life than participate in The Bachelorette. The small talk alone would send me spiraling into a catatonic state. Then again, ABC probably wouldn't want me either because with my propensity to instantly judge people, the season would only be one episode long.
Guys: "You look beautiful tonight. We can't wait to get to know you."
Me: "You're all barely-veiled misogynist famewhores. Go home so I can take a bath in peace."
THE END
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You know what I am not? A welcher. Behold: dessert.
You know what I am? Stupid. I'm not usually stupid, but today? Dumb. As. Shit. I don't know whether I'm just overtired or it's the new drug, Neurontin*, but I've felt like my head is full of cotton candy all day, and I HATE cotton candy.
*Which I think is one of the more ominous drug names, unlike the chipper "Abilify" or the calming "Celexa." It's not even one of the fun ones that sound like Sci-Fi characters, like Zoloft.
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I trust Martin Yan. The apron, the wok-related aphorisms, the unflagging enthusiasm. He's lovable. He's approachable. He's like the Bob Ross of instructional Chinese food public television programming. Happy little Peking duck. Happy little scallion pancakes.
Granted, instructional Chinese food public television programming is a bit of a niche market, so that's kinda like calling my only brother my favorite brother, but it does not diminish the warm fuzzies he inspires. (Martin Yan, I mean. My brother does not generally inspire the warm fuzzies, although he does remain my favorite brother. I mean it.)
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So I was on Amazon the other day spending some of my hard-earned kickbacks affiliate payments, and I took a look at some of what people were buying. All those of you who bought the Charlie Palmer book, good job. For whoever bought the Dungeons and Dragons books, don't worry because (1) Amazon doesn't tell me who you are and (2) I cannot judge you as harshly as I would someone who purchased, for example, a Rachael Ray book, as I have openly admitted in this very forum to having played Magic: The Gathering. I too have ...
I mean, this didn't taste like chicken. It tasted like lamb, which is what it was. I mean that there's something slightly unsatisfying about a Wednesday Night Smackdown. Like, it should be slightly exciting and unorthodox because it's not a Thursday, but it tastes like chicken. Like alligator meat. Or what I imagine alligator meat would taste like.
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Sometimes I'm amazed at the brain's ability to retain information. Like this: the last time I studied or spoke any French was my sophomore year of college. That was roughly 12 years ago.* Yet I only had to look up 3 of the 5 words in the post title, and I'm almost 70% sure it says what I want it to say.** Sometimes I amaze even myself. For my next trick, I will keep 15 plates spinning while playing the score to La Traviata on the recorder.
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Paula Disbrowe, authoress of Cowgirl Cuisine, likes to give macho cuts of beef - in this case, sirloin - a "pretty, feminine treatment." Because when I think "pretty and feminine" I know I think "nose-burning, palate-numbing Szechuan peppercorns." There are also pink peppercorns, because a feminine dish must be pink, and it's paired with red onion marmalade which is also, you guessed it, pink. (More of a magenta, really. The photo does not do its magenta-ness justice.)
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