Kill my finances, that is. Sorry, no Christmas this year; mommy spent all her money on pre-cooked and shelled fresh lobster meat. Thank god I don’t actually have kids.
Oh, Bobby Flay. You continue to flog your bold Southwestern flavors and chile oils to within an inch of their lives on Iron Chef America, but damn if you don’t put together a tasty plate ...
Energy mustered. Dinner cooked. Fusion. Only one whole week late!
Last week’s Smackdown – AKA The Aspic Incident – was a creamy horror. Whenever a Smackdown is a true culinary Ishtar, it’s time for reparations the next week. What to better counteract a creamy horror ...
Do people even say that anymore? I don’t know, I’m so out of touch with what the kids are up to. I now have nieces and nephews older than new hires at my office? How ...
It’s a lie though; these scapes are from New Jersey, not New York. I wanted a better pun because you deserve more, but I can’t muster one just now. Nothing will ever beat the one ...
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