• The approach of meteorological spring can only mean one thing. Lent. Which can only mean one thing. FISH SAMMICHES!
  • The robins in my yard are HUGE. Like biddy hens. Their territory is the back and the crows have the front. When they meet in the side yard, they get all when you’re a Jet. And it’s pathetic. Birds can’t snap.
  • I’m planning a date night around watching Inglorious Basterds. Don’t tell Chuck. It’s a surprise.  I am obnoxiously excited about planning a bushwackin’ guerrilla army of a menu that does one thing and one thing only: Satisfy my need for crispy fried veal. 
  • I love how every other recipe on Pinterest has either crescent rolls or cream cheese as a main ingredient. Even better? Those with both.
  • The key to a successful relationship is this: You both have to love Three Stooges or hate them. Iggy and The Stooges? Works the same.
  • Get off your high horse about krab. That stuff is delightful.
  • Teh internetz loves you more when it thinks you’re hurt than when you’re well. True fact.
  • I always get Wes Anderson, Paul Thomas Anderson, and John Cameron Mitchell confused. Then when I sort them out, I realize Wes Anderson’s the one I like and feel dumb. Then I’m all sorry, Wes Anderson, for thinking you’re the Shortbus guy.
  • Where are the french fries I did not order? You guys need to anticipate me!

2 Comments Add yours

  1. Gita says:

    I used to really like you. Now I know you’re a veal eater.
    Moreover, you are willing to accept pollock, a trash fish, as substitute for delicately flavored crab meat. Travesty! Infamy!
    I have two litmus tests for FRIENDS (three if you count “must be pro choice”). First, I need to know that when you invite me over to your house to eat (which is a given), I would be able to eat all the items on my plate. The second is, you agree with me on certain fine points of the game of baseball, namely, NO DESIGNATED HITTER.
    Signed, an Acquaintance

    1. Susan says:

      I also love smoked mullet so I am no stranger to the trash fish. No, were you to come to my house for dinner (that’s an invitation, beeteedubs) and I said I would love to make you whatever you wanted and you wanted crab cakes, I would not serve you krab kakes. No. For a dish like that there is no analog. One must spend hours picking over the delicate flesh to rid it of shards. Which is why if you asked for that, I’d tell you I make a fabulous shrimp and grits. Real shrimp, no tomatoes. Tomatoes have no place in shrimp and grits. I digress.

      Krab is like using the well bourbon for a bourbon and coke. First, that’s a terrible thing to do to bourbon. Second, why throw the good stuff in with a sweet mixer? You can’t tell the difference. krab is wonderful when you have an overwhelming desire for crab rangoon. A dish that doesn’t really exist, but is delightful nonetheless. Krab, cream cheese, soy sauce, green onion wrapped in a wonton skin and fried–or baked, your choice–is yummy. I don’t care how big a food snob one is, that is a delicious dish right there. Also when you want to throw together a salad with green onion, celery, dill, and mayo. Add pasta? Why not, I ask. Why not?

      Now, baseball? I don’t like baseball. I KNOW. Many have tried and failed. HOWEVER, given my knowledge of the game is limited to whatever rules are in “Take Me Out To The Ballgame”, I’d have to say I agree with you on the designated hitter rule.

Just spit it out, already!

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