In a city where the number of hot new restaurants has surpassed the number of hot single men, I couldn’t help but wonder…has looking for lunch become more important than looking for love?
First off, apologies for my sparse and inconsistent posting as of late. You see, in two days, I will be “taking my talents,” as the kids say, from Austin, Texas to New York City where I’ll be starting culinary school at ICE.
I know! Big move. Exciting times. Of course, this means trading in my parents’ large, fully-equipped-with-every-appliance-imaginable kitchen for a tiny city dwelling with a mini fridge and one small section of counter space.
Yesterday, hundreds of thousands of babies were born. Almost all of them were regular, kind of cute but mainly weird-looking babies, and one of them was a royal baby. This royal baby comes from a long line of royal babies- his father was a royal baby, and his father was a royal baby, and his mother was a royal baby (#girlpower), and so on and so on for like a thousand years.
Last Thursday, something sort of amazing happened. Our country had a brief yet powerful moment of national unity brought on by natural disaster. This disaster was not a tragedy, but a triumph. A triumph of human ingenuity. Alright, I’ll cut the crap- I’m talking about that stupid Sharknado movie.
In case you are some freak loser who experiences life through reality and not the internet and television, Sharknado is a made-for-TV movie that aired on SyFy, about a tornado full of- wait for it- sharks. Okay, well, actually it was a hurricane full of sharks, but we’re not keeping score on meteorological accuracy here.
It is no secret that I am an unapologetic enthusiast of daytime cooking television- it’s kind of my “thing.” One of my greatest claims to fame in college was a drinking game I created around Giada at Home that I would force my roommates and friends to play on a regular basis, so you could definitely say that I go hard. (Eventually, when the timing is right, I will share it with all of you as well.)
As you have probably heard by now, the culinary entertainment world was shaken to its core last week. A scandal erupted in an industry that, like your 9th grade Myspace bio claimed, doesn’t like to get involved in drama. Before this, the most dramatic to happen on daytime Food Network was Ina Garten’s husband almost picking out the wrong type of wine to pair with Beef Bourguignon for their anniversary dinner. (That Jeffrey, always so aloof!)
This is a difficult post to write. I have had it in my mind to do a sort of “Throwback Thursday” Italian feast homage to The Sopranos for a while now, because I feel it is one of the shows that stands out most as the embodiment of what this blog is all about- food creations inspired by entertainment. In my mind, my love of Italian food is directly linked with my love of The Sopranos.
That might seem like an strange statement, but it’s true. During the show’s final season, Sunday family dinners in our household were transported to the couch, regularly with a big bowl of spaghetti and meatballs or baked ziti. You see, when these gangsters weren’t blowing people’s brains out, hanging out at the strip club, having sex with their gumars, or pushing drugs, they were at home. With their families. Eating. And they made you want to eat like them.
A couple of weeks ago, I had this genius realization during my daily routine of mindlessly scrolling through food porn pictures and recipes online: people love the crap out of macarons. Seriously. They are right up there with quinoa and Nutella as the Holy Trinity of potential Pinterest explosion.
I was so excited by this new revelation that I even took to twitter to boldly declare them as “the new cupcakes” to my legion of followers (like 300, but whatever that was enough for the Spartans.) What a trend spotter I am, I thought. I am so cutting edge. I should have my own TV show where I just, like, talk about trendy foods. I’ll basically be the Ellen of the culinary world.
Spinach Artichoke Stuffed Chicken with Herb Balsamic Caprese Salad: Celebrating the Tastes and Television of Summer
Summer is upon us, friends. This is an exciting time for many people, such as: elementary school students, middle school students, high school students, college students, LFO. For everyone else, though, it doesn’t really matter so much because we realize that “summer vacation” is not really a thing and all the changing of the seasons means is that you and everyone you know get to walk around all day sweating like Joel Osteen at a drag show.
There are still some exciting aspects of summertime for me though, namely: entertainment and food. (I know, these are pretty much the only things I care about year round, but in the summer they are particularly exciting.)
What a beautiful Memorial Day weekend we had! I’m not talking about the weather; I don’t know anything about that- I mean beautiful in the sense that there were a lot of fun things to watch on television.
It seemed the obvious go-to for everyone this weekend was the revival of Arrested Development, which released its much-anticipated fourth season to Netflix on Sunday. I am a huge, huge AD fan. I have watched and rewatched the first three seasons countless times. I had planned on a big extravaganza post on it this week. I got four episodes in on Sunday evening and couldn’t go on- it just wasn’t the same. I just didn’t find it funny. This is a sensitive matter; please respect my privacy at this time.
“Red” Potato Salad with Green Beans and Lemon Dijon Vinaigrette: I Don’t Know About You, but I’m Feeling 22 (Years Older Than Everyone Else at this Taylor Swift Concert)
One of the great things about living in Austin, Texas, the “Live Music Capital of the World,” is that there are so many opportunities to expand your musical horizons by discovering and supporting young talent around the city. A good example of this is that time I went to the Taylor Swift concert last night. You may not have heard about Taylor; she’s not your “Britney Spears” or “Jennifer Lopez,” but let me tell ya- this gal is going places. You heard it here first.
Yep, last night I threw my shame into the wind and packed into the Frank Erwin Center along with 10,000 of my best (pre-)adolescent girlfriends and their one-tween-concert-away-from-fullblown-midlife-crisis dads for the Red Tour. And I have to say, it was a freaking blast. I never really went to big time pop shows when I was a kid (I’m pretty sure my first concert was Weird Al Yankovic when I was like 15), so the sheer magnitude of enthusiasm and collective high-pitched screaming was actually astounding to me. Brightly lit signs illuminated all around the theater, saying things like “22,” a nod to Swift’s pop mega hit of the same title as well as the combined age of everyone at the concert besides me and my friends.