Sleepy Girl (aka Ina Garten, the Barefoot Contessa) coos her popover recipe, which appears easy and turned out quite amazing, as I slowly descend into holiday food madness. Earlier I lost my mind at Costco, and purchased this triad:
Yes, I've lost it. Soon I'll be in cookie-induced insanity, and can't vouch for my actions. Alas, they never make it far from the pan, so someone out there might get lucky with a seven inch cheesecake or those mozzarella balls marinated in olive oil and herbs. Still homemade, but less likely to be pilfered by the hubby.
Meanwhile, the Victoria's Secret Fashion Show rocks on. We know they're not eating cranberry-lemon cookies. If you made half a million a show, you wouldn't either! OMG, now they've mined Surrealism to showcase underpants! Culture, panties, and hot girls! Paula Deen's blueberry dumplings just can't compete. And Martha tying cute ribbons around tins of bulbs…well…even I'm not that dull.
And now…THE SPICE GIRLS!!!! Really, they're wearing little satin outfits and singing. Global warming must be real.
Back to holiday stuff—I used to think I was crafty. Just another delusional fantasy. I see stuff at the Ferry Building and think it's lovely, but I bet I could make better soaps. I should know, I love all that herbal, smelly bath stuff. Even while going through chemo, I used those lavender laundry sachets in the dryer. But let's get real. Crafty is the title of a Beastie Boys song, not an accurate description of my current station. It's like gardening. I've got a yard full of weeds and about 160 bulbs in bags right next to me. Will they find the ground? If Matt James "The City Gardener" finds my house, maybe.
Anyway, this may be the year I stop paying $1.50 each for those Parisian macaroons at Miette and start making them at home. This may also be the year I get the hubby to wear a silver lame suit and dance while I sprout a snowflake out of my back…and grow 9 more inches.
A storm's rolling in, you can now pull up your boarding pass on your cel phone and use it instead of a paper pass (in Houston), and it's time I get serious about things other than pistachio brittle and how to make a rum-soaked fruitcake. That's right, I like fruitcake, if it's alcoholic. Hmm, maybe I can develop an alcoholic pumpkin butter…