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Category Archives: Food

Thanksgiving Thoughts: The Anti Thanksgiving Post.

Why turkey? Is it because it only comes in one size—gigantic—and not small and cute like those cute little roaster chickens we eat during the rest of the year?

Whose idea was it that we should all gather with family? Is it to show us how grateful we are to be able to leave them?

Have you ever noticed that on the week of Thanksgiving there is a ton of food in the house, but nothing to eat Monday through Wednesday? Once all that Thursday cooking is done, the fridge is empty, and so is your wallet because you spent your entire food budget on food for just one day.

Want to see the scariest place on earth? Visit a supermarket on Thanksgiving week. It’s as if everyone just suddenly remembered a holiday we celebrate every year at the same time was upon them.

Seriously, why do we eat the same meal every year? It’s a little creepy, almost as if we’ve been brainwashed. (Yes, I do understand what the word tradition means, but if you’re asking me that, you clearly don’t understand what the word sarcastic means)

Who are you fooling with that fancy china? No one gives a crap what their plate looks like when it’s slathered in gravy.

Why does Thanksgiving have to “kick off” the holiday season? Do we really need a whole “season” for holidays?

Who decided that standing on line at four am (not for a club) all drunk on turkey was a fun idea? How in the hell did they get that many people to buy into it??

Does anyone really watch the Thanksgiving Day Parade?  Have you seen those creepy floats?  I mean really, people.


It’s official—Thanksgiving is an obligatory pain in the ass, and I’m grateful that every year I get to say it.


I hope you all survive the endless eating and encounters with family 🙂


Costa Rica, te amo (part 1)

The meandering road from San Jose to Manuel Antonio stretched before me like a dream—its curves enticing and mysterious, so different from my world. Indescribably bright flowers greeted me with silent “hellos” as we climbed through wavy hills and long stretches of green so bright that it seems a disservice to just call it “green.”  My body yawned, an involuntary response to the dry air hanging in the plane, but my mind was exhilarated, my eyes being assigned the impossible task of trying to take everything in.  The colors were jubilant; the traffic sparse, the roadside fruit stands plentiful.  A smile crossed my face as I settled further into my seat, and felt the everyday world sliding off my back.  I knew in that instant that the rules of life didn’t apply here—sometimes the fantasy does live up to the reality.

The days unfolded in an array of colors, heat and rain. The beaches, the colors, the mysterious allure of the jungle, the seamless integration of humans and nature—they all delighted my eager eyes.  The mysteriousness of the rainforest, with its secret medicines disguised as leaves unfolded around me, enchanting every last one of my senses.  Even spiders, with their ominous legs and ever expanding webs seemed relevant when in their element.  Sloths cradled themselves in trees, relaxing in the shade, and hiding from the midday sun coloring skin on the earth below.

Costa Rica is a land that seduces all of the senses—assaulting each and every sense individually. From tiny houses suspended on mountain roads to flowers so bright you think they’ve been photo shopped; Costa Rica is probably the model they based “high definition” on—vivid, intricate, colorful, alive. The nose will tingle as it discovers scents like no other it has encountered before—the lingering smell of night jasmine and fresh rain, a scent of pure romance that would fly off the shelves if someone figured out how to stuff it into fancy glass bottles.  The scented air intoxicates, romantically lulls me into relaxation so deep; I forget what day it is, throw away my watch. The humidity is a gentle touch on the skin, wrapping itself around my body only to be relieved by the chilly, crisp water enveloping me as I glide under waves—a hideout from the sun’s intense rays.  Lounging in a hammock, the eyes close automatically, leaving the ears to act in their place.  Spanish fills the air as I drift into a restful slumber, the words like a dance, filled with emotion, filled with life.  Awaking from a short nap, there is hunger, the last sense begging to be fulfilled.  On this one, Costa Rica delivers big time. An explosion of flavor awaits– luscious pineapple, pink watermelon so juicy your arm becomes sticky from the dripping juice, but you care not.  A steaming mug of coffee from fresh beans awaits– dark, nutty and bold, the taste unsullied by storage and transport.  Fresh fish, never frozen, playfully sit among cilantro, limes, onions and tomatoes in tangy cerviche, waiting to be piled on crackers and enjoyed.  Plantains, smashed and refried decorated the side of the plate, a delightful detour from the standard American side of French fries. Next to them, red meat so delicate, so tenderly, melt in your mouth delicious, it’s almost a crime.  Where on earth has this meat been all my life? The flavor is so smooth and buttery, an explosion of pure, simple beef flavor, not ruined by preservatives, cheap feed, or sadness.

I cannot go back, it is not possible after all I have seen, heard, tasted.  I will keep repeating this sentence over and over, until I am forced to face reality.


Foolish, Yet Intriguing, Thoughts to Ponder– Part One.

Bananas clearly enjoy communal living, hence the reason they reside in a bunch, no? Why, then, do people feel the need to break apart the family? You know what I’m talking about (hell, you may even be the guilty party). You are wandering the stacks of bananas and you can’t help but notice an orphan over here, two orphans over there, oh, and don’t forget those single ladies in the back! Who’s responsible for this? Do they not know that they are tearing families apart, breaking the banana code, shattering lives? Who are these people? I demand answers! I want to know who only wants to eat two bananas. Who can’t handle six bananas, especially if they are still green and in no danger of crossing over to the mushy banana mess we all hate.  I mean, really. If you don’t like bananas, don’t buy any! Don’t tear off two because you feel like trying them again (even though you don’t really like them), leaving a broken banana village filled with orphans in your wake.

What is it about the weekend that makes people not want to cook? Isn’t this when we have the “most” time? So why do we abandon our kitchens and pack ourselves into mediocre restaurants that we have to wait 45 minutes to get into only to sit down (finally!) and then have to rush through the meal because hundreds more just like us and impatiently waiting for our table? Why do we rush during the week to try and put a home cooked meal on the table in under thirty minutes because we are so pressed for time, yet don’t even attempt to cook when we have all the time in the world? Don’t look at me for answers; I do the same damn thing! I’m just throwing it out there, that’s all.

At times I find myself hiding out in the bathroom at work because I just can’t take it anymore. This gives a girl a lot of time to think… which leads me to the question—why are people messy when they think no one is looking? I mean, you wouldn’t throw paper towels on the floor at home, would you? Then why do we do it at work? Are we really such selfish people that we delight in making a mess that we know we won’t have to clean up? Or is this just the little way we get back at the man for making us work in such a boring, stress inducing environment?  Maybe it’s just for the sheer delight that we know no one is watching; it’s one of the few places in the world where we can still remain anonymous, so we celebrate our anonymity by being total and complete pigs.

Just a taste.

I’m closing the book on this summer for good, and as I browsed through my pictures, I remembered what a feast it was.

I traveled, I ate. What can I say? The best way to get to know a place is to taste it’s food. And now, for you, I present the highlights….

Slow Cooked and Sloppy in San Antonio... (sigh) I miss you.

Yes, I will marry you, Fresh Fish Sandwich from Maine

Oh, the gluttony that is Chicago Deep Dish...

Why, oh why, do we attend BBQ’s in the summer??

This post especially applies to those of us in areas such as the Northeast, who experience all 4 seasons. So, think about it, and don’t just write this topic of as pointless… like, oh, duh, we have bbq’s in the summer because it’s warm. Um, no… correction… it’s HOT. Sometimes BLAZING hot. Why do we wait for the hottest days ever to plop ourselves outside trying to cook food over a big, hot, open fire (fine, not technically an open fire, but still)  and then (attempt) to enjoy foods mixed with (perishable) mayo?? Really, I mean, who came up with this idea? Wouldn’t the outside land be much more enjoyable in the seasons of Fall and Spring, when the sun isn’t death hot and the bugs aren’t so abundant? Shouldn’t the point be to actually ENJOY the outdoors instead of wiping sweat off your face every two seconds and daydreaming about running off into the amazing world of air conditioning?  Or, even better, participating in the act of trying to crowd under the ONE tree providing shade  in the whole backyard with the rest of the poor suckers stuck outside in the body melting heat. Why, why do we do it?? I mean, and I didn’t even touch on the subject of the “plate on lap” balancing act that always seems to occur when you are at these things. Yeah, that’s comfortable. So comfortable that I’ve actually gotten rid of my kitchen table, and I eat like that all the time now! I’m kidding, but SEE! That just proves how stupid it all is.

Now, don’t get me wrong… I’m a LOVER off all things cooked on the grill…especially skirt steaks or big, juicy burgers, but seriously? When it’s 105, I’m taking the plate inside, my friends.

Oh, and shout out to all the Texans… I’m sorry I confused y’all by saying “bbq,” but in the (yankee) Northeast, we use this as a verb and not a noun, just so we’re clear.  I love ya, Texas.