Coconut milk and curry powder do wonderous things. Among them is making your home smell like an Indian restaraunt. As soon as curry hits sizziling oil your struck with its complexity. Add a splash of coconut milk and you’re on a different plane of “yum”. As good as that picture looks, my coconut curry was lacking, what the gentleman lover calls, “the wow factor.” This factor he attributes to Welch’s Grape Juice and when biting into a juicy kalmata olive. All of these make him go wow, my coconut curry made him go, “it’s missing something.” It was good, but not that good. I added coconut milk, yellow curry powder, garlic, basil, soy sauce, sugar, salt, chilis, pepper and honey… Anyone have a good recipe?

Have you ever noticed how everyone was something spectacular in their “past life”? I have yet to meet anyone who wasn’t a prince, an Egyptian sex goddess, or general in the Roman army. Please. I’m still waiting for someone to tell me that they felt energy at a turn of the century toilet in Paris — that they know they were there, a hundred mystical years ago. Me? I feel my chakras are aligned with a mug I’ve had since high school, pictured above next to the blueberry pancakes. The painting, by Henri Marie Raymond de Toulouse-Lautrec (try screaming that in bed…apparently, the man had hypertrophied genitals) is entitled,  Ambassadeurs: Aristide Bruant dans son cabaret. I believe I was the man with the red scarf, standing so erect with eyebrows to die for… either that or I was banging him day and night. To each his own. Get in tuned with your past life with these blueberry pancakes.

Ingredients:

• 3/4 c. flour
• 1 tbsp. sugar
• 1 tsp. baking powder
• 1/2 tsp. salt
• 1 tbsp.butter
• 1 egg
• 3/4 c. milk
• 1/2 c. blueberries, washed and drained
• extra butter for the pan

The gentleman lover and I had a duel to the death over who could create the best pizza. The great debate took place over cheese on top or cheese on bottom. His pizza was layered with artichoke hearts, pepperoni, onions, mushrooms and hot peppers. My pizza had a chili garlic base, swirled with basil pesto and pizza sauce - topped with sausage, mushrooms, red onion and banana peppers. I won.

In a country where death is the penalty for a narcotics offense — they don’t mind if you season your food with marijuana.

JAKARTA (Reuters) - Indonesian Vice President Jusuf, who opposes legalising marijuana, doesn’t mind the drug being used in cooking, a newspaper reported on Wednesday.

“It’s alright to use it as a food seasoning, but it should not be fully legalised,” Kalla was quoted as saying by the Jakarta Post daily.

Many of dishes in Aceh province, where hemp plants are grown, such as mutton and beef curry are said to be laced with marijuana seeds to give them a distinctive local flavour.

Check out this website for food seasoned with pot, like pasta and chili — beyond your average cookies and brownies. By the way, it’s not cool to tell someone after they’ve downed a bunch of your cookies that they are packed with marijuana. Not cool at all. Have fun. But be safe.

“But we don’t beat the Reaper by living longer. We beat the Reaper by living well.” Raise a glass tonight to a great man, Randy Pausch; he passed away this morning. He was 47 years old.

In response to a recent comment about Frances Mayes and Under the Tuscan Sun: it turned out that after 100 pages I couldn’t read anymore. The book was layered in an orgy of descriptions, as rich and creamy as her pancetta cream sauce. Too much. I wanted to start throwing tomatoes, as red as the sunset, as plump and round as natural breasts…at her. Oh yeah, sure everyone has time to spend every day of their life buying colorful linens. What the fuck do you do with so much linen? I felt lost to find any emotion. I was drowning in someone else’s self-absorbed day dream. Every chapter was like walking in on her masturbating.

What about dear ole’ Ed, her boyfriend and companion? Did he have no soul? Was he lacking male genitalia? Where-oh-where were the detailed descriptions of Miss. Mayes slowly being bent over by the fig tree? The locals weren’t happy because she dissected them, so slowly and intricately, that you may have missed the condescension. I wanted so badly to like the book. I really did enjoy the first 100 pages. They were delicious. I’m not alone — read the spiteful comments on Amazon.

I made a promise to myself: When I am born to rich southern artistocracy, and when I am renovating a home in Italy and also living in San Francisco, that I will not spend my days doing character studies of all who cross my path as if they were mere insects, beautiful yes, but bugs nonetheless. I want to be nice. I want to be nice and pleasently drunk off the local wine. I want to have crude sex against those cold stone walls of Bramasole. And for godsakes, with all those lush gardens, surely the climate is suitable enough to plant a few marijuana plants, and perhaps a coco plant here and there. That has to be better than buying linens.

“These two guys reared this lion from a baby in England but the authorities would not allow them to keep it once it reached maturity so they were forced to give it up, they took it back to Africa and placed it in a wildlife sanctuary, a year later they went to see it and were told it would not remember them, true love never dies, how gorgeous.”

This is a truly incredible video. I stumbled on this once after my brother showed me videos of vicious spiders bites. In a world of bad news, this is happy. And also probably thirty years old based on the hair cuts. It’s about five minutes long… enjoy.

Courtesy of Bon Appetit

1 tablespoon sesame seeds
2 tablespoons unseasoned rice vinegar
1 tablespoon mirin (sweet Japanese rice wine)*
2 teaspoons soy sauce
1 1/2 teaspoons Asian sesame oil
1 1/2 teaspoons coarse kosher salt
1 teaspoon wasabi paste (horseradish paste)*
2 cups coarsely chopped trimmed watercress (leaves and tender stems from 2 medium bunches)
4 green onions, thinly sliced on diagonal (about 1 cup)
1/2 cup 1/3-inch cubes peeled jicama
2 large avocados, halved, pitted, peeled, cut into 1/3-inch cubes

I tell them where I am from and they begin to frown. Their heads tilt like confused puppies. Their New York accents start their engines. “AWWW GAD! TAT’s TARRIBLLLE” And they high five each other, in their orgy of self-congratulations for choosing to live in ‘the best city in the world.’ They say incredible things like, “It’s weird up there” as if they were talking about a town of werewolves. They feel sorry for me. And then I start to play with their minds.

“Yes, it’s terrible. Buffalo, NY got 2 feet of snow last week.” It’s July. They actually believe me. “AWW GOD! You’re kidding! Wow, it really is cold there! How can you live there!” And I am looking at this fucking retarded imbecile wearing his Yankee hat and drinking his vodka with a splash of lemonade thinking how fucking dumb are you, how stupid can you possible be? You are actually going to phone a friend right now and ask if it’s snowing? Do you not know your geography? Take your head out of your ass!

He continues, “What do you do there? Is there anything to do?” Besides eating, drinking, fucking and sleeping there is really nothing to do in Upstate New York. This is not Sex & the City. Unfortunately, we are void of all culture. We lack niche coffee shops and bakeries that specialize in making zangy cupcakes, we don’t have Broadway, hot spot clubs are replaced by hole in the wall bars, things are less expensive, employment is low and so is traffic. However, we recently got a movie theater with six screens! And the New Yorkers reply, “You just got a movie theater! Holy Shit! Times really are bad there huh? We have theaters with 20 screens. I knew Upstate was bad.” And it is. It’s terrible. But we are not dumb.