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“Another drink, another binge, another bender, another spree.”
A little quinoa salad to help straighten you out on New Year’s Day.
Depending on the level of debauchery you achieve in the wee hours of the New Year, your first thought upon waking might well be, “I am never going to drink again,” not that I’d know much about that. But let’s be honest, if surviving a bender was a reliable cure for a tendency to overindulge, we’d all be sober as judges come January 2, and we’d stay that way for a good long time, or at least until St. Paddy’s Day.
Regrettably, such is generally not the case. Still, in the agonizing hours or days that follow a walk on the wild side, sustenance must be had. And though it’s entirely likely that the thought of eating lacks a certain appeal when you first wake up, once the vomiting subsides and the hallucinations fade, you will need to put something in your stomach. I find that the crashing hangover responds best to a combination of sugar and stodge, and for me French toast fits the bill. But as the day wears on, healthier foods are called for, and I’ve got just the thing: quinoa salad. I often make up a batch on the 31st, just to have it at the ready, and because experience has shown that it’s generally not advisable to wield sharp knives until at least January second.
I adapted this from Jamie Oliver’s recipe for couscous salad in “The Naked Chef.” The quinoa has a little more flavor, fiber and nutritional value than regular couscous, though you can substitute couscous if you prefer.
Hey Hey Paula, I wanna move next door to you
What is it about Paula Deen? Is it the accent? The hair? The butteranoerl? Maybe it’s the openly unhinged-ness of it all. Witness:
Apparently it’s all the romantical gnawing and the bone sucking.
But then there’s this, girlfriend:
I love her. After about teeyen minits ah staht talkin’ lahk thayat. Reeeel slow lahk.
No kidding, I could watch this stuff for days. I defy you to stop once you get started. Just make sure you trash the Krispy Kremes and deep six the bacon before you open the vein and jack into the matrix, folks.
Start your 2012 Right! Rachel vs Guy: Celebrity Cook-Off
Ah New Year’s Day, that wonderful celebration of new beginnings, hangover ministrations, formal apologies, stomach pumps and bail hearings. Following as it does on the heels of what my family fondly calls amateur night, January first is steeped in homespun tradition, most of which centers around stepping over the moaning carcasses of relatives, friends and complete strangers strewn around the living room and desperately trying to warm themselves at the flat screen. But it’s also about disconsolately sipping Alka Seltzer between trips to the powder room and coping with the mortification and shame that accompany each flashback of the night before.
courtesy foodnetwork.com
And then, of course, there are resolutions to be contemplated, made and almost immediately abandoned. What’s mine? you ask. Well, in addition to losing those pesky last thirty pounds (plateauing at two is such a bitch) and giving my liver the occasional day off, I’ve vowed to watch each and every episode of Rachel vs. Guy: Celebrity Cook-Off. The January first premier is perfect timing; I’ll already be nauseated before it even begins! Read the rest of this entry
Dessert in a Hurry: Clafouti
Thank you sir. May I have another?
You know how it is. You’re yacking it up in a bar. The drinks are flowing and you’re feeling a deep and abiding love for mankind in general and your tablemates in particular, so you invite them over for a little home cooking at your place in a couple of weeks. But tequila slammers being what they are, you don’t necessarily recall issuing the invitation the next morning, in which case, you probably won’t remember that you’re supposed to be getting a company meal on the table two weeks hence. So when your pals call to confirm three hours before they’re set to arrive, you really have only two choices: fake sick (in which case I’d suggest choosing an extremely communicable vector-borne disease – mononucleosis, swine flu, or a herpes outbreak, depending on the nature of the friendship) or suck it up and get the chow on the table.
In the event you choose door number two, here’s what you do.
Stop! Stop! No really, please make it stop. I’m begging you.
courtesy huffingtonpost.com
Recently a friend said to me, in a purely constructive way, “Gee, Kitchen Slattern, I think maybe you were a little rough on Nadia G.” As you may recall I described this TV cook as the unholy spawn of an unnatural union between Pee Wee Herman and Snookie, and I’ll admit it’s pretty unvarnished as criticism goes. Upon further consideration, I might more correctly have said she’s like the unholy spawn of an unnatural union between Pee Wee Herman and Snookie with oven mitts. In any case, I took the suggestion in the spirit it was intended – entirely constructive as I said – and had another look at Nadia G., and let me tell you, once my ears stopped bleeding and my appetite returned, I concluded that not only had I been right in the first place, but I don’t think my initial evaluation went far enough, as it did nothing to prevent the creation and marketing of Nadia G’s Christmas video. Honestly, I’ve had acid flashbacks that were more coherent, better choreographed and far less unpleasant than watching this. In hindsight, I do wish I hadn’t shot out the TV, but we all have our Elvis moments, and once you see this video, you’ll know why.
“It’s Christmastime. Stop, stop, rewind.” It’s for charity, so show her “your ding ding ding dong.”
Once you’ve seen and heard this, I defy you to get it out of your head without ECT. You can call me for Dr Feelgood Feldman’s number if need be. I feel your pain.
Kitchen Slattern 