We lived in Bermuda for a brief period right after our son was born. I’m pretty sure had the Brazilian Blowout been invented back then, my years spent on that island would have been more enjoyable. Looking like a chia pet, coupled with the lack of gyms (and a post-baby body), initially a lack of friends and a (delicious) newborn made for some rough times for this very social (and very vain) NYC girl. We invested in a home gym, I met some awesome women I am still very close with today (hello sweet Sonia), and I spent a lot of time in the kitchen. Ah yes, that gorgeous KITCHEN! Continue reading (1383)
My husband knows that when we go to a restaurant and if after studying the menu, putting it down, picking it up, putting it back down again, looking on the back, asking about the specials, asking a bunch of questions, and then asking the waiter to bring me a bunch of olives and orange slices from the bar….if after all that I order THE CHICKEN it’s because there is NOTHING else on the menu I want or can eat. I cook chicken at home. All the time. If I wanted to eat chicken I’d stay home, I don’t want to eat it when a professional is making it for me. I like making those chefs earn their $1.50/hour wage…make me something I can’t make myself at home for heaven’s sake!!!!!
OK on to the chicken recipe now that I have a) revealed what a giant pain in the ass I can be b) that I am, in fact, married to a saint and c) you can correctly assume that we are big tippers. Continue reading (3389)