lamb Tag

HIGHLY ADDICTIVE PARTY CIGARS

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Oh mah God… I haven’t been under so much pressure, yes, since the time when I realized I needed six more credits to graduate college (SIX!  “Professor, your otherwise gross beard appears unexpectedly dashing today”… just kidding)… and it is precisely the reason why, as much as I may seem to be an ideal candidate to host a dinner party, I shouldn’t be allowed to.  At all.  Because my management skills crumble in disarray when I’m cooking more than one thing.  There’s a large number of oysters that I’m pulling all strings to keep alive inside a fridge that lacks everything else to cook them with, and a whole scale-on, bone-in, head-attached sea bass that frankly… I don’t remember inviting to dinner.  On top of which, a 7 pounds limp-neck goose-beast is going to be dropped onto my doorstep like surprise! any minute now… could be like now!  Plus did I mention I’m supposed to make a tart?  That’s it, time for emotional breakdown.

Hey, nobody said my threshold for stress isn’t delicate at best.

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turkish kofta platter

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I fancy myself as a divine dinner party hostess.  I fancy myself as someone who embodies the total coolitude of Guarnaschelli’s professional kitchen-wizardry, set on Martha’s pristine estate filled with ponies, and accompanied with Beyonce’s crowd.  Someone who could present a seemingly-casual-and-approachable but truthfully-intended-to-shock-and-stun dinner display with nothing but an elegant breeze in and out of the kitchen, in a spotless oh-so-nothing white dress that belongs in Diane Kruger’s closet.  I fancy.

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Funky Business

All right.  I admit it.  I have been hiding something dirty from you.  I have been for quite sometime now playing the role of a girl who gushes about red velvet things, woos-and-ahhs over seasonal muffins for weekends and salutes to tacos, sandwiches and raviolis for everyday meals, who even contemplates (but no luck so far) on creating the ultimate fairy-food salads to tackle the hippie crowds.  Don’t get me wrong because I love all that (maybe not the salads…) as much as the next American and who wouldn’t?  But… there’s more to it me and it’s despicable that I’ve been tucking it away in a dark corner to lick off its own shame.  Today I’m going to let my closeted funk-fetish get exposed…

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A Bite of Le Marais

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It’s impossible to shake, like it’s wired into my every nerves, and rejecting whatever highly-caffeinated substance I have been shooting up my veins.  It has made it its personal quest to destroy my complexion, and put my blog, my kitchen and my dear dear camera on life-threatening danger.  Just know that I’m writing this while floating in a distorted, murky, brain-scrambling derangement.  Thoughts are bouncing off the surface of my consciousness like dimming fireflies, twirling and giggling, so close but out of my grasp.  “Wait, don’t go.  Why so shy?… let’s play…”

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Nice Rack

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There are many who shy away from lambs, including a number of my personal friends.  So I’m not going to say anything rude here, only … what the hell is wrong with you?  Lamb is one of the most flavorful meat!  In some cases even tops beef!  Its unique flavor and aroma (is someone gagging right now..?) has no equal.  Yes, I’m talking about the “gamey-ness”.  What “gamey-ness”?  How come beef isn’t tagged with any condescending adjective, but only nice words like “beefy” and “meaty”, whereas lamb is stuck with “gamey” and “lamby”…..  Because of it, some restaurants would go the distance, like 12 extra steps to remove the unique flavor of lamb or goats.  What is this?  Tastes like beef.  If I wanted beef I would’ve ordered beef….  Now where’s my lamb?

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