'HH'

it started with an innocent text..

March 18, 2014

 

so last week the goddess {aka raquel perry, the fitness stalker, my girl crush,} sent me a text:

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i mean i was raised not to be rude.

and since when am i to turn down a homemade, crispy-riced, i need two napkins please, confection?

especially when they were hand-delivered, hot-pants clad, mid my nut-house, DMX-themed spin party, last saturday morning.

that’s real, i’ll-hold-your-hair-when-you-puke, friendship.

{luckily raquel has super short hair though.}

famished from my hip-hop-palooza on a bike, there was no ladylike postponement, waiting until i got home before i face dived into my gifted, baggie of sweet, crunchy goodness; with crispies in my lashes and pretzel crumbs in my belly button, i bare teethed texted raquel, demanding the recipe….

textthe thing is….i have been known to “demand” recipes in the past….

remember beautiful dena?

i was hell-bent on getting her chicken soup recipe too; stalked her new jersey ass, threatened to kidnap a twin or two of hers, and held up traffic on a bridge for a day until she gave it up.

she did.

but then i read how complicated it was {it really wasn’t but i’m an imbecile,} and the liklihood of me making chicken soup NOT from a can is faint.

but i promise to share her recipe soon with y’all.

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but these krispy things…{is krispy with a “k” or a “c”?,} really did read easy {you saw the text.}

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there are the rice puffs….

brown rice puffs, unsweetened.

3 cups.

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 spelt pretzels….

1 cup {chopped}

now i have NO idea why they have to be spelt; raquel specified spelt. i don’t know what spelt is; if you ask me “spelt” sounds like a species of fish. but if raquel tells me to eat used baby wipes, you bet i’m going to chow down on a cost-co sized box of those pre-moistened, not-so powder fresh anymore, towelettes…have you seen this woman?

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1/2 cup brown rice syrup….

this makes it sweet.

{yes, i may or may have not added more than she said….i did.}

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1/2 cup peanut butter…..

“save the rest of the jar for later date emotional eating binge”….i do—-{these are my notes, not raquel’s}

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1/2 tsp of vanilla….

2 cups for the floor and the counter.

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and this is why i hate to cook: directions like “a pinch of salt.”

what the f*^! does that mean?!!?!?

“a pinch” is a very partial amount….especially when it comes to salt….a pinch of salt to me, someone who thinks there’s too much salt in the salt-free food i buy, is one, micro, unseen speck of that tangy, white poison….yet if you were to ask me what a “a pinch” of sugar looks like, i’d need a forklift to show you.

give me metrics people!

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nevertheless they turned out delicious…albeit looking a bit yellow and dijon mustard-ish…

hunkiest liked them, so that’s all that mattered.

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 is it just me or does anyone else think of the maggot scene from poltergeist when you look at this plate?

i told raquel that was my only gripe; from far away i thought i’d made worm casserole.

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apparently i bought the wrong kind of cereal; her fancier, euro-erewhon are less larva-looking.

priscilla also gave her seal of approval. she loves when i cook; especially with peanut butter, she knows she’ll get the spoon.

but really, if you’re looking for a delicious, healthier alternative to rice crispy treats, and you’re not allergic to peanuts you should try this super-easy recipe.

happy cooking m’loves.

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where’d you go, katie?

March 10, 2014

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here in southern california when we have weekends as beautiful as we just had, it’s funny how, for two days, we seem to forget about taxes, jobs, and healthcare.

instead we bask, like jaundiced, carefree seal pups, vying for space under blue skies and cotton-balled clouds.

saturday morning, in a room packed, bike to bike, with people i worship, i danced my face off, to gangsta’s paradise and yes, a little miley, with my fellow newport beach gangsta’s.

every week we sweat and rock to the beat for sixty, “can i have a hallelujah?” minutes.

this is truly my favorite time of the week: this dark room, that music, and this crew.

on a high that no pill, injection, cheese plate, or shot of tequila could ever replicate, i walked/drove proudly {maybe even smugly} to my next class, a barre class, stopping several times to converse, visit, etc with people and the general public, rejoicing in sunny skies, emerald smoothies, and my other various, first world pretensions.

it’s in barre that i stretch, elongate, and awaken my inner martha graham—a beast which SHOULD be supressed.

a packed class, but i made sure i was front row, center….. for all to see.

{disclaimer–i’m in teacher training so i’m asked to be in the front row–most know that i prefer back corner, in the dark, hidden, invisible, non-existent.}

and see they all did…45 minutes into my grĀnd, vainglorious, “up an inch, down an inch” performance, as i lifted my leg back into arabesque, a quick glance at my form in the mirror confirmed that, yes,:

my pants had been on BACKWARDS all. morning. long.

to all you monkeybutts who didn’t tell me—-guess how many fingers i’m holding up right now?

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clearly i needed a change of scenery.

my fashion faux-pas called for a road trip.

hunkiest piled us all in the car saturday afternoon and we buzzed up north.

i wore a dress to be safe.

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i forget how limited food options become on the road when one doesn’t eat meat.

beef jerky is now its own aisle at most truck stops.

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was able to excavate some fruit though…

and i think it’s even considered “raw,” right?

i mean it’s not like i microwaved it or anything?

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typically i can’t read in the car….it makes me sick; like chocolate covered strawberries sick {WHY  do people RUIN TWO PERFECTLY GOOD FOODS!?!?!?!?}

but i cannot put this hilarious book down.

where’d you go bernadette” by maria semple.

it’s the story of a woman who absolutely LOSES her mind….and i could be …..i love this woman.

bernadette {the title character} stole my heart with the following four lines:

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 i’ve actually only been to a buca di beppo once.

it was for my best friend’s bachelorette party.

i was very young and very smug.

do you notice a theme here?

 i sent back my margarita because i didn’t like the taste {too alcoholic.}

the second one came back a little better, but 20 minutes into THAT drink i noticed my rigatoni morphed into large, sandy conches, hoisting miniature, blue mermaids, who brushed strands of their linguine hair as they recited def jam poetry to me.

no one else at the table could see this though.

the next thing i remember i was back at the hotel calling security on MYSELF.

fuck buca di beppo.

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who knows at what moment we start to lose it?

it’s my theory that we all have these little hiccups of mini-breakdowns throughout the day/week/month/year, but some sort of reflex {luck? god? self-preservation? a mirror?} pull us back, just right before, that tip-toe, into the never-never-straight-jacket-land….

i was explaining my theory of the daily break-down to hunkiest on our drive back last night….

and then i looked down at my feet…

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the liebster award

February 27, 2014

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remember me?

this has been the longest hiatus i’ve taken from writing…

getting back into the swing of work has been a bit harder than i had anticipated.

my body was not ready for the decathlon my anxiety-riddled brain craved, and BAM! my knee and hamstring gave out like two, third-string, hacks, posing in the major leagues.

i’m also cramming, winter semester, final-style, to teach at a new, local studio…i’m loving the stimulation and creativity, but it’s keeping me up late, at the barre.

and also, there’s just been an influx of overall farce and folly {all of it giggle-inducing} around the house, which has kept me far from these happy sounding laptop keys.

i am glad to be back.

i can’t believe it, but i actually have even been nominated for an award…

unfortunately not of the academy type; so signor armani you can cease the hemming of my floor-length tulle skirt you insisted i wear sunday night….but i’ll keep the pearls and save my frock for some later springtime fete, perhaps a picnic or sail? armani]

but back to my nomination…it’s called the liebster award…it’s a type of blogging award…except there aren’t any judges, there is no ceremony, definitely no red carpet, i don’t need even need a blow out {i still might get one though,} and no actual winner…

so, yes, i’ll ABSOLUTELY take it.

thank you silentblackstarrs for the nomination…i am tickled kelly green.

liebthe only requirements are that i answer the following questions…

here goes:

1) what got you to start blogging?

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definitely my deep narcissism and self-absorption.

it is my firm belief that everyone in the world wants to know what i eat for dinner and what i wore while eating said dinner. i owe them this information and the accompanying selfie.

 2) if you could choose to be in a movie, what would it be?

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“grease 2″ no hesitation.

 my “cool rider” blows up that bitch michelle pfeiffer’s rendition any day of the week….

my “girl for all seasons” is a close second. i am constantly perfecting this routine.

she’s my coach.

3) if you can say one thing to the person you are missing right now, what would you say?

straw

rob!!! we’re out of talenti!

4) if God appeared in front of you right now, and told you that you can change the path of your life (your career, the partner you chose, the place you are living, etc.), what would you change?

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first i would say to her, good luck hosting the oscars…and second i would ask her to not change anything other than to please not me live longer than the people i love {this includes my dogs!!!}—oh and to never cancel true detective.

5) who is the person you love hanging out with most?

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my husband.

6) describe that person please.

he doesn’t say much, but the stuff he does say makes my knees weak, and when he says those things, i faint a like pre-teen at a one direction concert…

7) what is your jam? (your theme song!)

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8) if you were given a chance to have one talent, what will it be?

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to not leave places messier than how i found them {both literally and figuratively.}

9) if you had to choose one food for the rest of your life to eat what would it be?

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coffee.

10) have you ever been nominated for a liebster award before?

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no.

but i’m still going to wear a pretty dress today.

thanks again to silentblackstarrrs for the nomination…and i hope to see you here tomorrow m’loves…

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back in the saddle

February 14, 2014

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i’m back!

albeit with a case of vertigo—which is friggin bonkers?!?!

who else has had this disco party in their head?

every time i stand up i am compelled to shriek: “i’m on a boat!!!”—-hunkiest says it wasn’t funny the first time…so you can bet i’ll be repeating it all summer long.

yesterday i received the “all clear” from my doctor, and i’m chomping on the mouth guard to get back to my full schedule.

glamorous, right? 37 years old and i wear a mouth guard—makes for a sexy kiss goodnight….

no wonder we’re just now procreating after eight years.

nevertheless…i’m back in the saddle, literally, today and all through the weekend, even subbing an 8:30am spin class on sunday morning at equinox in newport beach; so if you’re in town come see my giddy, off-balanced mug.

weekend happy to you m’loves..see you on the other side of sunday.

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no. i didn’t get a boob job for christmas…

February 7, 2014

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contrary to my new, 2014 curves, both up north and down south, i did not get breast implants for christmas.

i was pregnant though.

a week before christmas hunkiest and i saw two pink lines on the drugstore purchased test….6 tests if i’m to be honest….the skeptic in me needed to be sure….the overacheiver in me needed the affirmation….hunkiest was overjoyed and relieved…elated that our family was growing; alleviated he was now off the hook for that stella mccartney fold-over tote i had been expecting under the tree…instead we were expecting our christmas present in august.

last week in an ultra sound i was told there was no baby.

no specific reason was given to us; the doctor said my body made a decision for me my “mind might not have been able to make.”

i was prepared for this; told people, when i was unable to keep my exciting, happy news a secret, “now, it IS early, and i AM 37,” as if i was steadying them and me for this inevitable, stinking event.

i cannot lie and tell you that there isn’t a part of me– an unhinged, irrational part, the subdivision that shows up late at night questioning logic and serenading golden retrievers, who sometimes wonders if maybe i jinxed myself into this mess.

i won’t lie, this stings; packs a little more spank as time progresses.

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i ride on the swing-set of glum and good. mostly good, but i never know when a case of the sad will set in.

yesterday i bit into my banana only to discover its less than ripe constitution. i went from composed to crumpled up on the kitchen floor in a matter of seconds.

mr. banana it’s impolite to deceive a girl with raging hormones. there are some things in this world we need to count. bananas are one of them! 

produce aside these days sometimes i can taste sorrow even in an ice cream cone.

i know it will pass, and it’s not all of the time.

each day is a little sunnier; even when the raindrops fall outside.

girl scout cookies help.

as does knowing house of cards signed on for a third season; february 14th can’t come soon enough.

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my boyfriend jeans have officially broken up with me.

{i still sport a 13-week pregnant body; once i get my on head straight, god/the universe and i will be having a roundtable discussion on fairness.}

there’s a denim rinse in a santa claus cut i’ve been courting online, so keep your fingers crossed for us.

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it’s hard to be heavyhearted with these two faces administering round-the-clock-care to me.

it also doesn’t hurt that i have the greatest parents on earth.

my friends and my colleagues, although my co-workers ARE my friends and pseudo family; these people have been sick with compassion and support. it’s like they can’t help but ooze out all this love and gooey kindness from their pores, and it just drips and spurts everywhere, all over the people in their life, lately me, making the world a better place–really you guys need to get this checked out by a dermatologist. it’s almost gross.

you all know who you are, and i am nothing without you.

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and of course, my husband, you oily-bohunk you.

you really do make all those bradley cooper’s and ryan gosling’s look like scrawny, stay-in-the-dugout, third-string players. love is not a strong enough word for how i feel about you.

for us, yes, it is a private time, and i’ve been hesitant, and on the fence about sharing my story, but i believe when life delivers meals you didn’t order, bites that feel like shards of glass when you swallow, it always helps to know that someone else has had to wolf down a similar, barbed chunk, and yet lived, laughed and loved to tell about it.

love,

katie

 

 

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scenes from a saturday night…..

January 13, 2014

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the hunkiest and i are the new faces of hermit living.

of late, the weekend trek to trader joe’s is our cologne-spritzing, lip gloss-wearing, disco ball chasing of a saturday night.

sag screenings and finally jumping aboard the netflix breaking bad train keeps us pajama-clad and sofa ensconced on most nights.

but this saturday night we busted the buttons off of our ritual of comfort and, decked in denim, cruised out into polite society for date night.

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nothing like a pair of wingtips to damper the dishevelled look i taken so fondly to these days.

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1st stop john varvatos.

we’ve finally become everything i hate about orange county.

date night isn’t a visit to a museum, a seat at the hottest concert, nor is it front row at a play……

we go to the mall {insert image of me taking a nine-glock to the chin.}

but hunkiest needed a new suit, and john varvatos serves beer, wine, & espresso to the impatient, toe-tapping, eye-rolling wives.

bedecked in a slim-fit, italian virgin wool two-piece, my green-eyed sweetheart was probed and whacked with measuring tapes and shoe horns, while i spun out like an out-of-control dreidel, jacked up on all that espresso.

dinner

amped and ravenous we hit our favorite neighborhood haunt for eats and side-by-side booth sharing.

 the razor thin-crust pizza is naples certified, and my husband is able to drink peroni while watching play-off football; it’s the perfect spot.

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dean martin’s serenade and a belly full of marinara slathered carbohydrates inspired “molto amore!”

unfortunately the romance ended here.

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and was replaced by a whole ‘nother kind of sunday morning love.

how did your weekend treat you m’loves?

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why i have insomnia….

January 8, 2014

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and when they do leave me room, it looks like this ↑.

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farewell 2013

December 31, 2013

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as my 2013 comes to a hushful, out-like-a-lamb, close, like most of you, i have some goals, resolutions if you want to call them, that i wish to pursue.

faraway lands, alpha brainwaves accessible on speed dial, and a new venture or two with a change in my current title, working woman.

but i must say i’m most committed to leaving several poor habits, brain-bashing addictions, and dispositions best outgrown in the rear-view mirror.

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a people, animal, and sometimes even an inanimate object-pleaser to a fault; often at the expense of sleep, nutrition, and time with my family, i realize i am of no benefit to those i care about when my candle is down to the wick.

the guilt and panic i feel over disappointing others shuts me down like the stomach flu.

 kind of like twerking and the selfie, i hope to ban this behavior in the upcoming year.

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2014 is going to be one big party-bowl of change around here; i am committed to leaving my inner bully behind.

this includes shutting down the voice who often judges her day or mood by the number on the scale, or by how her pants fit.

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last saturday night hunkiest and i were forehead-t0-forehead chowing down on pizza and fritto misto at our local date night haunt.

we looked around to see what other patrons were enjoying, and instead of seeing mozzarella induced smiles, or chianti stained teeth, we counted 14 patrons on their cell phones.

couples and even some parents completely missing moments and conversations that will never happen again.

i was so embarrassed to know i have engaged in this disengaging behavior before.

2013 you can have my cellphone…

reality tv.

i 1000% admit, i am a fool for reality tv….shahs of sunset, courtney loves dallas, and the wrecked train known as keeping up with the kardashians….you all have sucked me in at one time or another….

although terribly watchable, i hesitate to say these shows are “entertaining.”

i always come away feeling a little scummy, grimy, and in need of a shower when i partake in reality tv.

the producers goal is to highlight outrageous behavior; terrible, mean, racist, sexist, evil, greedy behavior. speaking from personal experience, the more i watch this stuff, the more numb and immune i become to this type of, at one-time in history, unacceptable conduct.

how can this not affect society? haven’t you noticed a trend in the last decade of people publicly acting more beastly.

pollyanna i’m not, but i’m going to try to leave my itch-to-shock unscratched in the upcoming year.

so long bravotv.

sadand finally, just like the iphone, sadness has sucked up too much of my precious time.

i wouldn’t say i’m more melancholy than most; in fact my happy meter tips the scales on most days.

but sad things do happen. i’m just sick of giving them more weight and attention than all the toe-curling wonderful there is in my life.

so, tell me m’loves, are you looking to leave anything behind in 2013 too?

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a weekend in winter….

December 17, 2013

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i think the perpetual sunshine here in southern california has marred our already balmy brains.

last week, we had a slight change in weather, known to the rest of the country as this thing called “winter,” and us angelenos responded with a chicken-little like panic, waving our mittened hands in the air, yelping out “it’s in the 60′s! it’s in the 60′s! it’s in the 60′s.”

i heard fema had to come in with disaster relief; mainly in the form of cashmere pashminas, ugg boots, and caramel salted lattés.

 meanwhile this weekend, in utah, where i was playing my most mannerly “bosses wife” part, it was a toasty 13 degrees.

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camel coats and long-johns were de rigueur.

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and i was faced with the hard, cold truth, that as much as i love my riding boots, they’re not snow boots;

nor are they really for riding either….

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pomegranate bellinis coaxed out the merry in my frost-bitten, bah-humbug soul.

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and we of course made a stop to atticus’ book shop in park city; my only must-see of the granite state.

old, new, and rare, atticus stocks books that get you to linger for hours.

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and they’re vast and creative espresso bar, think red velvet lattés + cookies and cream mochas, also lends to dawdling amongst shelves lined with limited edition david foster wallace and vintage cooking books.

{btw did you see jason segel will portral DFW in the upcoming film, the end of tour, a biopic chronicling DFW’s book tour for infinite jest.}

bath

i spent more time in the tub than i did exploring our funky hotel.

this was the only spot where i wasn’t freezing my woolen socks off; in fact i tried to get hunkiest’s christmas party moved to our bathroom so i could stay warm and still participate in the merriment, but he wasn’t having it.

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why so fancy you ask?

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some people dress up for parties, some dress up for the theater, i dress up for cheese plates.

this showpiece of stinky, artisanal happiness rocked my salt lake city world!

pago, a farm-to fresh, local+ sustainable sourced restaurant, located in a dreamy, early 20th century, brick building, delivered a rapturous, hands up in the air-inducing cheese plate. with one yummy combo bite of beehive’s salty promontory, a smidge of fresh blackberry jam, and topped with their homemade walnut/mustard sweet compote, i was ready to myself to the nearest mormon temple for utah conversion.

and as much as i complained about utah’s arctic weather, this 80 degree-plus hoo-haa we’ve got going on right now in southern california is a bit ridiculous…much like us californians…

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safe word: narwhale

November 27, 2013

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so last weekend i caught the local, debilitating, holiday virus going around town and throughout the country: the cooking bug.

i was no match against this cheeky bacterium.

everywhere i turned, i was ingesting infectious pinterests boards and blog posts touting their fever-inducing recipes, clad with vogue-magazine worthy photos, styled á la aran goyoaga, and accessorized with prose that would get any rebel on a hunger strike to apron up and starting onion dicing.

armed with my boards, sites, and the most vital ingredient: a cute outfit, i set out to chef my way into a more beautiful, happier, glossy world.

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it didn’t really turn out like i had envisioned.

hunkiest and i decided to make our first turkey dinner together where, in unison, we’d navigate the unknown, spooky territory of food processor and cheese cloth land.

i was his katniss everdeen, he was my peeta; side by side and aligned, fighting for our lives against organ puncturing thermometers and heart attack procuring white flour.

this photo was taken on sunday…i am STILL cleaning up the mess.

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even the beasts knew best to turn their noses up at any scraps fallen from my guillotine cutting board.

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on a more positive note, because of the cooking bug, THIS is my new, beautiful, all-clad roasting pan {FYI: on special at sur la table,} a gift from my beloved husband, showing his appreciation and pride that i was in our kitchen for something other than making coffee……and demands.

it’s so pretty.

i’ve decided even if i never cook again i’m still going to use this pretty pan.

this morning it was my mirror for makeup and hair.

food

the gravy base was kind of a bust.

taken from this recipe, given to me generously by the culinary goddess, mrs. burns, my friend and biggest cheerleader when it comes to all things domestic; i tried to keep faithful to every single direction given to me.

i’m a rules girl and didn’t want to muck this up.

unfortunately hunkiest had other ideas. according to him and his “thorough” cavity search, we bought the only turkey, in the history of turkeys, that did NOT come with neck, gizzard {ugh THAT word,} and heart.

i think he even started to blame “monsanto” for our defective turkey; even though we bought an organic, hormone and anti-biotic free bird, raised on a cage-less, fence-less farm equipped with a jacuzzi and ping-pong tables, where the turkeys rode ponies in the morning, went to montessori school in the afternoon, and died in their sleep from being too happy.

irritated with my nagging to “fucking LOOK AGAIN!!!” he, with his hands literally up in the air, sassed at me to “make do.”

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i did my best.

but wouldn’t you know it, lo and behold, guess who finds the so-called missing bag of guts the next day as he’s trimming our bird.

i gave him THE bird and blame my gravy’s lack of robustness on his lack of poultry fortitude.

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we both agreed my stuffing {not really–again another recipe from mrs. burns,} was delicious.

if you’re a fan of mushrooms, then this IS your new stuffing.

boozer

it is my stuffing based solely on the tawny port ingredient.

after this near-death, hunger games experience, the rest of that bottle went downward dog down my throat.

so do you have a favorite, fool-proof, go-to turkey/stuffing/gravy recipe?

gobble gobble m’loves.

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