Category Archives: The easy way
Well folks, in the months I’ve been gone WordPress has apparently rolled out about fifteen new upgrades, updates, bells and whistles. As such I’m not entirely sure whether I’m posting something or signing up for the Publisher’s Clearing House sweepstakes; however, in the event anyone is still following me, I figured I’d note the passing of Halloween, my least favorite holiday, by linking to one of my most favorite posts, an oldie but a goodie, Hell in a Handbasket: Halloween my way, and praying for enough rain to keep all the little monsters at home.
Stay thirsty, my friends.
Another oldie but goodie. Bear with me folks. I’m relocating, and moving house is not as easy as it used to be.
Love her or hate her, Miss Lawson is for many the original short-cut taking, taste-as-you-go then eat-with-abandon kitchen slattern, and for that alone I will always be a fan. I stumbled upon Nigella Bites in 2001 and loved the show’s clever editing, Nigella’s girlfriend-y chatter and her refreshingly relaxed approach to both cooking and eating.
Over the years, however, as the domestic goddess juggernaut picked up steam, I began to feel a creeping unease, and by the time we got to Nigella Express in 2007, the experience of watching her cook had begun to make me squirm, and not in a good way. With adjectives multiplying like randy bunnies and the chatter taking on a, how shall I say, slightly overheated feel, the experience became more than I could reasonably endure, at least without a partner.
Witness the foreplay for a chocolate raspberry pavlova recipe:
“You just cannot beat a
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I’m writing today to clarify certain events leading up to the recent unfortunate situation in your Red Hook store involving myself, the assistant manager, six grocery carts, some allegedly stolen beer and my car. First, I’d like to assure you that my personal liability umbrella policy is up-to-date and all damage to your property and medical expenses incurred by your staff will be covered. This is, however, in no way an admission of guilt. I maintain I was provoked, even driven to despair, in the hours leading up to the “incident” in the parking lot, and in the interest of avoiding further such problems would like to explain. I know I am not alone in my feelings about your store.
Let me begin by saying that the converted warehouse by the water is a lovely location, and at first glance a beautiful, inviting store. Your merchandising…
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If you’re like me — not in the dipsomaniacal sense, but when it comes to holiday shopping, I mean — the annual ordeal of trolling overheated, overcrowded, over-illuminated shopping malls in an endless quest for that perfect gift for your nearest and dearest long ago lost its appeal. Especially since the authorities got all cranked up about people, and by that I mean me, driving after a cocktail or two.
So why not embrace the Slattern’s holiday strategy and click on over to Zazzle for slattern-themed gifts sure to please even the grouchiest, grinchiest folks on your gift list? Think about it! How much would your mother-in-law love a “Martha Stewart makes my ass ache” apron? Wouldn’t your Type A sister love sipping the morning jolt from a Kitchen Slattern mug or riding with pride courtesy of her Slattern bumpersticker? I thought so.
So save yourself a trip to hell and scoot on over to the Slattern gift shop. And have another Sazerac, why don’t you?
In these, the final precious moments of calm before the storm, I am taking on the ultimate Thanksgiving taboo. And I’m not talking about what happened in the powder room last year after Uncle Fred found the cooking sherry and Vaseline even after I hid them behind the sofa, grotesquely fascinating though that story most certainly is. In this case, the love that dare not speak its name involves your guests and cranberry sauce.
Let’s all just come clean, shall we? Of course we should prefer homemade cranberry sauce, and every year I make some interesting version of it – with apricots and toasted almonds, orange marmalade and Grand Marnier, or some such – which arrives at the table looking festive and appetizing, then sits right there for the entire meal. Eventually some sympathetic soul, usually me, makes a token gesture and takes a spoonful, but let’s be honest, ninety-five…
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