Well folks, turns out it’s all about the dessert this year. In no particular order…
And chewy pecan squares with shortbread crust – here’s how: 1 kilo French unsalted butter, pecans, honey, sugar, more sugar, a little more butter wack in the oven and dial 1-800-ALERT YOUR DENTIST AND PRIMARY HEALTH CARE PROVIDER. To cut the sweetness may we advise taking your cholesterol count ever slightly higher with a tangy dollop of creme fraiche. If only I had read Smitten Kitchen’s 2006 entry regarding the very same Ina Garten recipe BEFORE I went and made the same gooey goddamn mistakes.
Another FAKESgiving under (and expanding over) the belt and yet it’s Sunday night and I still somehow felt compelled to consume more turkey. With all the trimmings. Tucked neatly into a TV dinner style presentation fringed with foil. Thanks neighbours!
I like green eggs and ham!
I do!! I like them, Sam-I-am!
And I would eat them in a boat!
And I would eat them with a goat…
And I will eat them in the rain.
And in the dark. And on a train.
And in a car. And in a tree.
They are so good so good you see!
So I will eat them in a box.
And I will eat them with a fox.
And I will eat them in a house.
And I will eat them with a mouse.
And I will eat them here and there.
Say! I will eat them ANYWHERE!
I do so like
green eggs and ham!
I wake up and want a milkshake for breakfast. Immediately. A slice of leftover birthday cake. Chocolate chip cookies. Baklava. Cherry pie. Pecan pie. Cupcakes. A gooey almond croissant. M&Ms. Anything for that sweet fix circa 7am. Washed down with a steaming black cup o’ jo. No milk. No sugar. I’ll take those items from the breakfast bar of my imagination. Coffee cake. Doughnuts. Doughnut holes. Brownies…
I got ’em bad. Real bad. So bad I can’t even type me some clever copy today. All this cowgirl can muster is a sad-soundtracked photo montage to communicate the woe-is-me-ness of it all.
I’ll get over it. I will. I always do. Udon noodles with smoked mackerel and greens at Koya on Frith Street have already helped to ease the pain tonight. The week will fly by and and there will be a Saturday and a Sunday again. And I will return by bicycle to Caravan on Exmouth Market… if only to kickstart that grunge band I am now obliged to set up with my long lost and recently found waiter brother from another mother. You know how some people start to look like their own dogs after a while? Yeah, well… if you eat out as much as I do (and don’t have a Toy PoodleAfghan Hound to mimic) this is what starts to happen…