Part maraschino cherry juice, part pineapple juice, part vodka with a splash of soda. Dangerously delicious.

I had to get blood drawn today, a most joyless experience. I came equipped with a milky way to resurect my bloodless body and an eraseable pen I found on the ground to fill out paper work. I learned two things. 1) The milky way is almost too much caramel goodness. There’s enough sugar in there to send a diabetic into shock. 2) The erasable pen has come a long way. I remember in school they left blue streaks; now, they erase with ease.

I amaze myself with my keen ability to psyche myself out. Prior to my blood test, I had already imagined myself passing out in the chair after being drained of my life force and a muscular nurse screaming in a Jimmy Stewart like squeal, “GOD DAMN IT WAKE UP, YOU’RE A WOMAN NOT A GIRL!” and then promptly slapping me across the face and back to reality. I did not pass out.

I ate and drank a lot this week. I shall not bore you with recipes, but merely tempt you with photos. In other news, I was accosted by a Puerto Rican man this weekend; he wanted to take me to the Hyatt and show me his voodoo tongue. And I received a text message from my cousin, Stephanie that read: “the velociraptor veered toward my vagina.” That about wraps it up. I will leave you with a very funny video from Peter Griffin and why he dislikes The Godfather.

Blueberry muffins remind me of very early morning before basketball practice in college, when I would still be a little tipsy after wine tasting until 3am. I carried both dread and the freshman 15. Those were not the days. Luckily, I quit the team, shrunk to normal proportions, got laid often, experimented with drugs and cooking gourmet, found a passion for gardening, embraced certain domesticity and sex in hotel stairways and found an obtainable level of sanity. I have arrived. And so have these muffins… new and improved.

I found this via Chow.com’s daily recipe entitled Very Blueberry Muffins. I had heavy cream leftover from the pasta menage trois, and decided to whip these up last night. The muffin was extraordinarily moist and rich, with a hint of the kosher salt (bad ass baking ingredient) and sugar topping with every bite. I used deep, dark and voluptuous blueberries from the market that simply burst in your mouth, hot from the oven, like bombs of deliciousness. If only every morning could begin with such perfection.

NGREDIENTS
1 3/4 cup all-purpose flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
2 teaspoons kosher salt
3/4 cup granulated sugar, plus 2 teaspoons for topping muffins
8 tablespoons unsalted butter (1 stick), melted
1/2 cup heavy cream
2 large eggs
1 tablespoon vanilla extract
2 cups fresh or frozen blueberries

Read the rest of this entry »

We’re told never to stick metal forks into electrical sockets, but I’m sure some of us have probably at one time or another done just that with a toaster. It’s kind of like playing ‘Operation’, but instead of that annoying buzzing noise and glowing red nose, connect the circuit and you’ll be the one lighting up. Not to mention the scorching feeling of carrying hot toast from appliance to plate. Perhaps I’m over-dramatizing here, but this latest take on the toaster has me pondering the shortcomings of everything that has come before it.

So here it is: The Sliding Transparent Toaster. Stick your bread in, watch it cook (oooh! ahhh!) and then amaze others as it slides down (along with all the crumbs) onto your plate. Voila! Better yet, due its unique design, this particular toaster is eco-friendly — consuming half the energy of traditional versions. It’s also 20% faster — which means you can spend more time paying attention to that drunken French toast.

Awesome, right? Only problem is, it’s still only a design. Till the future arrives, just use a plastic fork to dish things out.

via inewidea

This dish is something you’ll scream for in the morning. Long strips of parpadelle pasta layered in a cream sauce, with browned pancetta, Spanish onions and garlic topped with fresh arugula, basil and a half naked man.

Directions:

Brown 8 pieces of pancetta lightly in a pan with a couple cloves of garlic and half an onion sliced. Add 1/2 cup of chicken stock and 1/2 cup of heavy cream. Add salt and pepper to taste. Toss with pasta and add a handful of arugula and a couple sprigs of basil. It’s heaven.

It’s so beautiful outside it’s almost impossible to do anything else but stare out on the bay in a peaceful sort of daze. How can one work? Perhaps this is why most island countries are underdeveloped — buildings, education, indoor plumbing — fuck no, let’s grab cocktails and head to the beach.

I’m reading Under the Tuscan Sun; the novel is much different from the movie and filled with lovely food descriptions like:

Our favorite is spaghetti with an easy sauce made from diced pancetta, unsmoked bacon, quickly browned then stirred into cream and chopped arugula…we grate parmigiano on top and eat huge mounds.

That makes my mouth water — I can hardly wait to try it. Under the Tuscan Sun is filled with such idealistic bites, and dreamy realities. A life where one is always tan, wearing white, drinking prosecco and eating olives. My life really isn’t too far from that bliss, I’m very fortunate, however, my chapters usually end with a hangover and a bizarre anecdote, like how this morning my boyfriend asked me to dress up as one of the winged monkeys from the Wizard of Oz. We recently saw Wicked. It’s no excuse.

As you very well know I like food and booze and love them together. One can imagine my excitement when I discovered this whiskey marinated pork tenderloin recipe.

Sure it was found in a book entitled, “Perfect Parties - Tips and Advice from a New York Party Planner” and yes I felt shame that I was casually glancing through such a book — just touching it made me feel like a dirty socialite with an overpowering desire to make a sex tape. But I regress. This recipe has the most seductive sauce I’ve tasted - part creamy, part spicy, part doused with Jack Daniels. Delicious.

Ingredients:
1 1/2 pounds of pork tenderloin
1/4 cup honey
1/4 cup of whiskey
1/2 cup of cream
2 tbsp. grated ginger
2 tsp. cayenne pepper
salt and pepper

Read the rest of this entry »

Worst Cook Ever is very honored to be featured on EarthFirst.com’s list of the hottest girls in Green. While I am not certain I deserve to be on this list of environmental goddesses, I’ll certainly take it. Now, please excuse me while I go burn tires in my backyard.

I’ve been to Asia…a lot. However, this is the first time I’ve been to Japan and I have to say it is my new favorite far east destination. The people here are so incredibly different — they’re genuinely happy. Everyone is eager to help and to please — yesterday I had a man in a business suit sprint around a building helping me find an entrance, and that was even before I flashed him my breasts and groped his leg.

Additionally, no one seems pissed off about their job, regardless if they’re pushing a broom or running a company. There’s honor in working hard and doing your job well — which, frankly I have no concept of, but respect. In our culture everyone is angry, feels cheated, broken hearted and victims of circumstance.

I’ve stuck to my all sashimi, all the time diet. I’m 5′7, 125lbs and I feel like a meaty giant out here. Not only am I an amazon next to the average Japanese person, but I also feel like I could eat them, Godzilla style, little legs and all, and that they might think so too. Watch out - I’m hungry.

Speaking of food — here’s some great porn for your enjoyment: Sashimi that I had for lunch, maguro that I had for dinner, B slurping her noodles and some amazing beef sushi rolls that we had at Gonpachi, a great place in the Ginza district.

Read the rest of this entry »

I traveled for 24 hours straight yesterday. I almost missed my flight, lost my aisle seat, and gained a middle seat (suppressed groan), next to a screaming baby. My solution was to drink beer profusely until I passed out. Success! Once I arrived at the Tokyo airport, a mere 11 hours later, my ride was no where to be found and I ended up taking a bus to my hotel a whole hour and a half away. (But what a hotel it is, The Peninsula Tokyo is lovely) I was so exhausted, dirty and pissed off I had reached my threshold of insanity: not only did I want to kill every person next to me, but I was ready to shoot heroin, drink paint thinner and run through the streets naked. Moral of the story: don’t travel. Seriously. Just never ever leave your house. It will save you pain and heartache, and a murderous like rage that will build up inside of you, devour your soul and take away all that is good, whole and true.

I was starving. We ended up going to a great little sushi restaurant and I ate enough maguro (tuna) for two. It was so fresh I swore it still fluttered lightly in my mouth. After that, we proceeded to drink a couple bottles of wine and I made it to bed sometime after midnight. I didn’t bring my camera because I am a jackass. I left it at the hotel and all those pretty food porn shots came and went. Alas, I will have it stapled to me this afternoon and will shower you food shots soon.

Sincerely,

Worst Cook Ever