January 2011
10 posts
AA in UK.
Who’s the bread-winner, now?! Thanks for the recipes, my little foodie mafia. It must be the week of Jim Lahey’s no-knead bread because I read about it in The New York Times yesterday too. I guess it’s something everybody in the secret gastro-gang talks about, huh?
Just a quick kiss goodbye, as I’m off to London for a work assignment. I probably won’t be blogging,...
Downtown Ragu.
As some of you know, I used to be quite the night-crawler. These days, unless it’s work-related, I spend most evenings chez moi. It’s pretty amazing.
The lifestyle shift happened mostly because I became committed to the kitchen, but I’m also enjoying spending less money, and understanding/controlling what’s going into my body…something I blab about often.
And...
Much To Write About Nothing.
Procrastination. I don’t wear it well.
It’s not that I’m Little Miss Responsible. Honey, please. I’m late on every bill, and years and years go by without haircuts and yearly check-ups and all that smart and useful stuff.
It’s just that, as far as work goes, I usually wake up wanting two things and two things only: To drink coffee and to write my assignments....
While I Eat My Gorgeous Grapefruit...
Good morning! Sorry for the lapse in posts. I’ve been straight-out with magazine work, my real estate column and writing the Apron Anxiety book.
What’s worse (no offense) is that I’ve had no time to exercise, my eating is off and I feel bootylicious in a non-Eva-Mendes kind of way. Ugh.
Whenever it’s time to snap out of a self-destructive eating phase, I go on a shopping...
Showtime.
I’m not going to lie. I loved Six Feet Under to the point of mental instability. I loved Six Feet Under in the sick and twisted way Heidi Fleiss loves her parrots or Rachel Uchitel loves love. Back in the beautiful era of SATC, followed by SFU, Sunday night was my perfect moment — better than any romance, culture, a world where calories don’t count or impromptu trips to Paris....
A Beauty.
If you’re a New Yorker like me, you’re always saying how busy you are. It’s so rude. But true. We bona fide city-folk do more in one day than others in a lifetime, not that it’s something to brag about.
Who has time to smell the roses when you’ve already smelled the funky F-train, the ivy league espresso maker, the scary boss, the psycho shoe sale, the depressing...
Aprons, Bliss and Filthy Fizz.
I have so much to tell you.
Was supposed to cook New Years Eve dinner for 5, which turned into 7, which turned into 11. A challenge I could, and would, take on with great joy. (Seriously!)
I knew lamb would be the star of the show, just because. So via Food52, I found My Man’s Belly, and based on the sheer sparkle of the pomegranates alone, this lamb meatball recipe would come to own the...