Did you know that there’s a special chicken you eat when you get engaged.? A chicken so treasured, so perfectly roasted, so exclusive, so only for people with fresh diamonds on their fingers that it’s actually called Engagement Roast Chicken.
Hey friends! We need to talk about a few things. I’ll keep this short because it’s Wednesday and you look super busy.
Now, you know I love a biscuit! Now that I live in the south, I take my biscuits more seriously than ever.
Hello, my friends! I’m happy it’s Sunday. I’m happy we’re here together. Remember last week when I was like aaaahhhh I CAN’T DEAL!
Hey friends! Can we talk about Instagram? Does it feel like it’s gotten out of our hands? Like everyone is everywhere doing everything (with cocktails) and we’re… distinctly not?
Here’s what happens when you add a blow torch to your kitchen arsenal: you find an excuse to toast or brûlée everything in sight.
Hallelujah, Sunday! We made it to the day of rest which means we’re entitled to sleep in and forget about the pile of dishes in the sink.
Ok. So maybe I’m not a professional BLT magic maker in the strictest sense of the word professional.
If you were in Nashville Tennessee this Spring, sometime between the months of March and May, you may have noticed a distinct shortage of chicken.
I can toast all of the marshmallows in Orleans Parish and tell you all about it every which way, but really… these Sunday posts have become my favorite to gather and write.
I have to be honest… I don’t believe in bad pizza. It doesn’t exist. Where there is bread and melted cheese, sometimes sausage and olive, sometimes pepperoni and pineapple… there is some dang good pizza. Frozen, warmed-over, school-lunch, cold from the fridge, so hot all the cheese slides off, any which way… it’s pizza and it’s delicious.
I remember the first time I went to the grocery store by myself, for myself. It was the day I realized I could buy cheese puffs, a candy bar, and a strawberry-kiwi Snapple… call it dinner, and no one would argue with me.
Before Joy the Baker was Joy the Baker…. Joy the Baker was a low-level, middle school candy hustler. I used to buy candy from the ice cream truck after school, repurpose it, work it and twerk it, and re-sell the candy to other kids… at a markup of course.
Hi friends! Happy Sunday! Tron and I have spent the last few days getting our house straightened up.
“I’m not so sure about watermelon and green salad.” I hear you. I hear you, fan of donuts and caramels and watermelon margaritas.
There’s a show on The Food Network called ‘The Best Thing I Ever Ate’. I think it runs somewhere between Sandra Lee making something weirdly boozy, and Alton Brown making chefs cook with both hands tied behind their backs.
Can I please not talk about Cecil the Lion? I’ll be honest… I don’t really know what’s going on, and I don’t want to know.
Some things are better left a mystery. It’s best not to know how many grams of fat are in a really good Pina Colada.
You mean to tell me that I get to walk into a grocery store these days and choose between soft ripe peaches, juicy strawberries, big-ol raspberries AND fresh corn on the cob!
A Working List of Things We Do With Food We stir it, mix it, fry it, and flip it. Whisk it. Beat it.