Category Archives: The Slattern Speaks
The gods must be chubby
Diet disaster: The Greek Gods torpedo my weight loss goals
The inside scoop via sassyagapi.blogspot.com
Have you tried this stuff? If not, I’d suggest you avoid Greek Gods honey flavor yogurt — and all of them really — at all costs, unless of course you’re trying to put on a few pounds, in which case this is just the ticket. For those of you looking to take off some weight or maintain your enviably svelte form, be warned: Greek Gods honey yogurt is like heroin combined with a big jolt of endorphins, sugar, cream and fat. In short, heaven in a bowl. Rich, creamy and flavorful without being overly sweet, it’s as addictive as crack, and eating it is (I imagine) as pleasurable as a hot stone massage administered by that guy who played Thor. And no, I have no idea what his name is, and I don’t care that I’m mixing mythologies. Thunderbolts, chariots, hell hammers, Greek, Roman, Norse — it’s all the same to me.
Happy ending, Madam?
Back to the yogurt. This stuff gives new meaning to the term “happy ending.” One spoonful and you, too, will be hooked — and sooner than later could find yourself next to me in the industrial lingerie department at Lord & Taylor frantically searching for lace panties that don’t creep and of necessity, full-body, super-torque Spanxx that provide at least fifty pounds of compression per square inch.
Gentlemen, you are not exempt from this scourge. Once you start mainlining this stuff, you might as well just give up on that goal of six pack abs or the dream of one day pulling your golf slacks up and over that front end beer keg you’re pushing around. It’ll never happen.
“Who needs to swallow?”
Via GQ and Greg Kadel
And folks, don’t even think about writing in to tell me how tasty and satisfying fat-free, carcinogen-sweetened yogurt really REALLY is. If that were the case, we’d all look like the offspring of the-actor-who-plays-Thor and Padma Lakshmi, who everyone know chews her food, but never swallows it.
So even though I know that sharing this information will probably land me on the Weight Watchers most wanted list and will most certainly smash the bikini dreams of countless numbers of my fellow struggling dieters, I’m feeling like the pleasure and taste benefits outweigh (if you’ll pardon the cheap pun) the costs.
Here are some ways to enjoy your Greek Gods yogurt. May God and Jennifer Hudson forgive me.
Recipes:
Berry and almond breakfast parfait
Garnish for vegetable frittata
Parsley yogurt sauce for vegetarian couscous
Keep Out
The misanthrope’s need for personal space
I’m having trouble with space. Not the intergalactic type, but the human kind, as in my personal space. People and things are cluttering it up, and my daily encounters with the lack thereof are wearing me down and cranking me up.
Via printable signs.net
Now, I know what you’re thinking: “Hey Kitchen Slattern, you chose to live in one of the most densely populated areas on Earth — of course space is tight. Stop your bitching, why don’t you?” Thank you for your understanding. Let me clarify, it’s not just New York that’s getting tighter, it’s everything and everywhere: my shoes, my car, the distance between restaurant tables, the aisles at Bloomingdales, even the formerly inviolate area around my person. In short, there’s just too much stuff and noise everywhere, and any place that’s not filled with crap is chockablock with nattering, rambling, scrambling humanity.
It is really starting to bug me. Read the rest of this entry
Maine has it all. Or a lot of stuff anyway.
Ayuh. It’s time for summer vacation.
Wicked clean, as opposed to filthy dirty.
Photo property of Audrey Winslow
Living as I do here in the metropolis, I seldom encounter many of my fellow Mainers. When I do, there are the usual formalities — Where’re you from? Do you know so and so? When’d you get out? — as each of us tries to suss out what caliber trailer park the other sprang from, whether we might be related and which details of our personal/family history need to be glossed over. Having established one another’s bona fides, a good natured conversation usually ensues, more often than not with both of us lapsing into the native dialect, which almost invariably leads to general hilarity, and eventually, plans to hit the local watering hole for a couple of pops as soon as schedules permit.
There’s always a certain camaraderie in shared origins, and this is especially true if the family homestead happens to be in a place as weird as Maine. The particular language, common references, mutual food preferences and suchlike provide a solid foundation upon which many lifelong friendships are based, often much to the bemusement of outsiders, or as we tend to call them, flatlanders.
So as I contemplate my annual pilgrimage back to the land of my ancestors, I find that once again I’m looking forward to a little immersion in the cultural sesspit pool from which I emerged, mostly because Maine people are really, really funny. There’s a certain dryness of delivery that is difficult to convey in print, so I won’t even try. And then, there’s the accent. After a few cocktails, I have been known to offer a reasonable interpretation, but even without the accent, Maine humor is pretty SHAHP in large part because of its unique linguistic quirks.(If you’re one of my sensitive, caring readers — though I’m pretty sure I scared the last one away months ago — you might want to stop reading here. It gets fairly offensive fairly quickly.) Read the rest of this entry
Size does matter, but quality rules
How to choose fresh fish, avoid bad clams and triumph at the lobster pound by choosing the smaller, softer crustacean
Apparently lobster prices in Maine are at an all-time low. That’s very rough for all the hardworking lobstermen and women in my home state, and if you don’t think lobstering is tough work, think again. Imagine being out on the water in freezing weather (every month of the year but July) on an open boat deck, wearing rubber overalls while handling bait and pulling traps up from the bottom of the bay to earn your living. It’s cold, it’s backbreaking, it’s dirty and it’s dangerous.
HOWEVER…
Whatever the price, if we don’t buy lobsters, the lobsterman’s labor is all for naught. So as we approach the season of my most favorite of all seafood, the soft shell lobster (or shedder), I thought you might profit by taking a gander at my seminal look at seafood, Avoid the Bad Clam, originally posted in October of last year. It contains many handy tips on choosing seafood to prepare at home and an invaluable guide to successfully navigating the lobster pound. Here you go:
Click the photo to read the original!
Kitchen Slattern 
Listening in Downeast
Aug 8
Posted by WSW
Geezers say the darnedest things!
I overheard the following conversation in the checkout line at the Ellsworth, Maine Home Depot this morning:
Alarmed dog courtesy Responsible Pet Ownership blog.
Mike: “Jesus Christ, Harold, how you been doin’?”
Harold: “Well hello there, Mike. Didn’t see you creep up on me. You know, I can’t complain. What’ve you been up to?”
Mike: “Oh not much really, just fuckin’ the dog, you know.”
Now I’m sure that the expression “fucking the dog” (meaning doing nothing for those of you who didn’t grow up in a trailer park or a women’s prison) is not new, and neither is it peculiar to Maine, but I can tell you that this is the only place on Earth I have ever heard it uttered. God only knows where it came from, and I for one would rather not dwell on the possibilities.
I have, in fact, also heard various layabout good-for-nothing dimwits referred to as “FTD specialists.” Again, only north of the New Hampshire border. As a rule, FTD specialists are universally acknowledged to be as dim as they are slothful. As in,
My husband’s a real FTD specialist. He don’t do a goddamned thing, and he’s number than a pounded thumb to boot. He don’t know nothin’. Shit, he don’t even suspect nothin’.
I may never go back to New York.
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Posted in Commentary, The Slattern Speaks
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Tags: Home Depot, Humor, Maine, trailer park