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Semi homemade. Completely inedible.
It’s the death of fresh food.
I’m all about convenience and shortcuts: pie crust mix instead of scratch crust, poaching salmon in the microwave, screw top wine, what have you. As long as the food (or drink) is still tasty and relatively nutritious, I say go for the easy way, and I always do. So whenever possible in the kitchen I choose the path of least resistance, but we all have to draw the line somewhere, and for me Sandra Lee’s godawful lasagna – in addition to her entire oeuvre, empire and philosophy really – is the ne plus ultra of kitchen crimes. Why, you ask? What could be so bad? She seems like a nice enough gal and she’s apparently making money hand over fist with her…how shall I say…“approach” to cooking, largely I assume because of her shameless brand promotion McCormick*.
courtesy yumsugar.com (no i did not make that up)
OK, first: You cannot trust a skinny cook; they could not possibly eat what they’re flogging. Imagine Giada taking more than a token mouthful of fettuccini carbonara Olive Garden*or Sandra Lee hoovering up a big plate of her granny’s special lasagna Prince*. Hardly likely. Clearly Anthony Bourdain stays slim by virtue of his cigarette, cricket and iguana intensive diet, so he doesn’t count. Besides, everyone knows those intestinal parasites you pick up when you drop off the grid really speed up your digestion and make keeping the weight off a cinch. Anyways, I love him. And Padma, well you see her chew, but can you recall her ever swallowing? I’ll leave it at that.
So Sandra Lee has made millions of dollars flogging recipes like lasagna made with tomato soup Campbell’s*, cottage cheese no brand?!* and shredded mozzarella Sargento*. Check out the recipe if you don’t believe me.
Back so soon? Are you okay? I told you it was unbelievable. The food looks like something you’d see in the chow line at the women’s penitentiary, and let me tell you, you could not trade a cigarette for it let alone a bar of soap. It could also pass for the result of a brainstorming meeting at Taco Bell where they decided to branch out from Mexican into Italian while adhering to the same stringent quality standards their customers have come to expect, meaning of course, successful digestion of the product requires a third world gastro-intestinal tract, post apocalyptic colon fauna, and a complete absence of the gag reflex.
GLASS corks! What will they think of next?
Ain't that the craziest?
So there I was opening a bottle of my new favorite white wine, Cusumano Insolia from Sicily, and imagine my surprise upon discovering a glass stopper where the screw top should have been! At first I was somewhat taken aback and wondered how to extricate it from the bottle, but as my ever clear-headed husband pointed out, that’s what God gave us thumbs for. He then proceeded to pop the cork with nary a corkscrew, et voilà! The wine flowed like, well, wine.
Now you may have seen these little genius items, but they’re new to me, and I am some kind of excited. They fit right back in the bottle; you can keep ’em for future use in bottles with pesky cork stoppers; and they don’t stick up so far that the bottle can no longer be placed upright in the fridge without a massive reorganization requiring a slide rule and a Xanax. Win win win.
The slattern abides (with a little help from her friends)
We are rolling now!
Thanks for the shout out Lostnchina! For those of you who have yet to discover this screamingly funny blog, run don’t walk to Susan’s site. She is far and away, the most hilarious woman in the ether, and she was good enough to include me on the favorites 
list she compiled for her richly-deserved Versatile Blogger Award. I’d like to thank my friends and family…not really, I just want to thank Susan and the Widow Cliquot, for taking the trouble to put out their inspiring (though seriously addictive) products.
Guess who’s coming to dinner?
Cold poached salmon for emergencies. Or every day.
A friend of mine recently called in a panic. It seems her fiancé had run into an old girlfriend from whom he parted on amicable terms and had – wait for it now – invited her to have dinner. At their apartment!
Hey hon, guess who I ran into today?
Gentlemen, just in case you’re wondering what the problem is here, let me enlighten you: We may say this kind of situation is just fine, and occasionally we may even mean it (if your ex has gained 100 pounds or married George Clooney, though it’s probably too much to hope that she’s done both), but as a general rule it is not okay, especially if she (or he) is still single. If you must consort with former flames, at least have the decency to book an expensive restaurant and suggest that your life partner spend some quality time at Bloomingdales accompanied by your Visa and warmed by the glow of your effusive apologies and genuine remorse. Failing that, you’d best offer to cook or be willing to order takeout from 21 (think Grace Kelly in Rear Window).
courtesy doctormacro.com
As none of the above had gone down, I suggested the following to the soon-to-be Mrs. Deadbeat. “Turn that frown upside down and look upon it as an opportunity to shine.” Yeah, sure I did. What I really advised was to pull out the big guns: Manolos and a black dress, expensive wines and the easiest menu possible. Then I offered to let her borrow my big diamond earrings, the ones I got after Mr. Slattern invited HIS old flame to dinner many years ago – on a work night. It was then that I developed this life saver: cold poached salmon with yogurt dill sauce, and it worked a treat for my pal too.
It’s time to clean up your act
"Ooh that's a nasty mess" (courtesy Oprah.com)
So in the spirit of being “helpful,” a friend sent me a pdf entitled “2012 Declutter and Organize Calendar” which was created by an obviously well-intentioned woman named Beth. Now I’m sure that, as a professional organizer, Beth has seen things that would make even a marginally functional adult like myself shudder. I’ve watched Hoarders. In fact I even have a sneaking fondness for those two English ladies who go around sniffing other people’s filthy toilets and soiled bed linens. I love them even though they terrify me.
So anyhoo, here’s the thing, the calendar was created by a woman whose business is life simplification, and it runs 15 pages. 15 pages of instructions on how to simplify your life! There is a task for every single day of the year, even Christmas (“Let go of craft projects you have lost interest in” – no problem there, so technically that would be a day off for me) and my birthday (“Declutter foot massagers, back scratchers, heating things if you don’t use” – Huh?).
OK, this is madness. Spending an entire year cleaning up your house? Let me save you 364 days of torture:
If your house is a cluttery pig pen, get rid of half of your stuff.*
You’re welcome.
*Does not apply to shoes or items in the portable bar.
Kitchen Slattern 