I would say an ice cream maker was one of my best purchases, except it wasn’t a purchase. It was an appropriation/rescue/total thievery, depending on your perspective… I obviously prefer to think of it as a rescue. Mom never used that thing–that makes it okay, right? I mean, she kept it in the GARAGE. That is no way to treat something as awesome as a thing that makes ice cream.
Tag Archives: Italian
This food blogging thing is a strange beast, I’m finding. It interesects with real life… Sometimes. For example, check out what happened this weekend:
Rachel and I rolled up our sleeves, fueled up on Jameson and pumped out Irish cream sandwich cookies, “caramelassies,” soda bread, green shamrock dip, corned beef with bourbon-orange glaze, colcannon and the cutest roasted carrots you’ve ever seen. Also pictured: guest contributions of steamed rice buns and Lunchables (always welcome).
So, yeah–I didn’t take photos for you, or make meticulous notes on recipes. You don’t want to see those things anymore, right? We’re already in Easter mode! Things move fast.
I think you may want to see this, though. It isn’t nearly as date-specific as all that beautiful Irish-themed food. Chicken piccata is welcome whenever. It’s weeknight-friendly, even if you insist on serving it with a bottle of crisp, grassy white wine (I did). Oh, and–delicious. Let’s not forget that.
Um. I read somewhere recently that turtlenecks are “back.” I never realized that they left. That makes me and Steve Jobs… Beatnik-on-top- Jerry-Seinfeld-on-the-bottom Steve Jobs. Bless his heart.
Scarves and turtlenecks are essential as far as I’m concerned. Some people feel claustrophobic this way; I feel complete. A cold neck will not stand in my book.
If I were born 3 million years ago, I would’ve been the mother of the Turtle People Race. I would have retreated my head into my shoulders and stayed that way. I would have spawned many a neckless spawn (totally not how evolution works). I would have been second in importance only to Lucy. They probably would’ve named me Ethel for short. Formal name: Australopithecus missingnecksis.
My vision for myself is so clear when I put myself into ridiculous scenarios. Sigh.
But, one of my first thoughts, natch, was: I really, really wish NASA would stop obsessing about “Earthlike” planets. Have we no ambition? This place is great and all. I like dirt and the ocean and fish and everything. But things could be better. For example: earthquakes. Wouldn’t the ideal planetary surface have much less in the way of tectonic plates and much more in the way of plush rising bread dough? Think about it. That would be worth a 600-lightyear-long trip, perhaps. Although I suggest that we disinvite this one.
This is a lot of outer space talk for a food blog. I sorry. So let me awkwardly segue: Perhaps my ideal planet would also sprout forth butternut squash premixed with onion, walnuts, thyme and goat cheese?
So, this is seriously the most grown-up birthday cake I’ve ever made. There is brandy and coffee and dark, bittersweet chocolate. My sister turned 30 recently–30! And it’s sort of odd for me, because she’s had her life in order for so long that I have thought of her as a 30something year old for quite some time now.