Mes Petits Choux, Punkin’s, and Dears,
I decided to take advantage of New York’s abundant bounty, and cheffed a Faux Thanksgiving meal just prior to my departure from the lovely city. Though intermittently sedated and totally high on codeine, I managed to remain dictatorial in the food department: Daddy-o and I went shopping for ingredients, and he actually cringed at my fascist fervor and veritable verve! The trouble is, I’m always right. Toujours, really I swear it. But he is my mentor, so it’s odd. The moment has been coming on for a while, and the definitive dawning of the age when I’ve surpassed my teacher in culinary knowledge is here. But I am most fortunate that he is as excited to be outdone as I am to be outdoing. It’s rather grand, actually!
I adore Thanksgiving. It is, après tout, a nationally sanctioned feast! But my history with the holiday is a bit peculiar. My derivation, culturally and genetically speaking, is totally un-American. I’d attended a few Turkey- and- Gravy affairs in my youth, but the first real Thanksgiving I had was the one I orchestrated and cooked last year at the ripe old age of 18. As such, I get to approach the holiday with sufficient cultural detachment that I’m able to use seasonal and historical ingredients in a way that is traditional, but that doesn’t suffer at the expense of adherence to childhood memories of Aunt Gretchen’s parchment-dry turkey. As a culinary celebration that is unabashedly cherished more as an excuse to cook and gorge than to uphold any moralistic ideals, Thanksgiving holds unique appeal to me, and I attack it with particular zeal and respect.
Oh, little ones!
It has been so long! And after I swore to post about all my gustatory adventures! I am Jewish-guilting myself, don’t you worry. But you must understand, there is a perfectly legitimate explanation: I had both wisdom teeth on the left side of my mouth removed. Ca douille!!! Yes, yes. Right after it was pronounced that my refusal to floss has indeed had negative ramifications on my pearly whites (a raging case of gingivitis), it was also discovered that I needed two impacted wisdom teeth removed, and pronto! You see, El Paso dental work is notoriously bad, so I needed to get the extraction taken care of before leaving New York, New York. And I did. And I was stoned. So, so stoned. So I didn’t write. Mais je suis là de nouveau, so don’t you fret your pretty little heads!
Holy Macaroni! (the elbow kind),
I am de nouveau entrenched in man fandangos! It seems I can never shovel my way out if this never- ending ditch. It is turning out to be my very own Journey to the Center of the Earth. Mon de dieu, ce que c’est fatigant!!! (All of you that speak French, kindly ignorez-vous the spelling).
Il se fait que while I have been most unsuccessfully lusting after my Deutsch darling, one of the cooks at work has, lord knows how, fallen under the charms of my spaz attacks. Perhaps he thinks I am a French Fox? Or a Brazilian Beauty? More likely, an Average American. I shall never escape my common birth! It appears that I have made a trend out of dallying with the little Marfa Mexican boys in my place of employment (he is # 3. Mon Troisieme wetback! No, I’m not racist I swear). Also, I must mention that he too is 18 (jail bate). And, for the kicker…He is best buds, permanent palls, with my splendid German. Pourquoi?
Mes Puces (which translates literally to “my fleas”… the French are odd about their affectionate nicknames,
It’s been a while. But you see, after I happily proclaimed that my sister was being punished with anal leakage (which, incidentally, is a known side effect of Lays Chips, along with obesity etc;), I too became sick. Not, thank god, with a drippy derriere, but with a cold. Un rhume, acute viral nasopharyngitis. To make a long story longer, and so you can fill this long and lonely winter night, I shall tell you the full and sordid tale of my past few days:
Updates:
Plural, yes, so buckle up, my lovelies!!!
1) This month of being sedentary hath made me, how shall I say… of splendid abundance. “Potelé,” to use the charming French term. Indeed-y O, j’ai un peu trop de junk in the trunk. My bum has a predisposition to expand (or explode, as it were), and so I go to war!!! I have armed myself with super-duper supportive sports bras, and have even broken out those wretched orthopedic monstrosities of flashing silver and lime green (i.e. exercise sneakers). As promised, since my ankle has healed I have been bounding like a loon on my trampoline. How sad, I know. As a result, my ass muscles are constantly in rebellion, which is just swell given that my profession requires me to march around unabatedly like a wind-up German soldier-boy toy for 7 to 8 hours a day. It feels so marvelous, I cannot even tell you. But a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do!
Recent Comments
Tapenade, and Pine Nuts