Diary of The Food Whore

There are a few places on this earth I’ve yet to see, but would love to visit. 

Well, I mean, few is putting it lightly.  I’ve never even been off continent.  Unless Hawaii counts.  Whatever.  Who has time for all the travelling?  I’m too busy waiting for chicken to be fried to plan something that would take me away from my stove for 2 weeks.

So these places…  Ireland…. Italy… Greece… Spain… North Africa… The Middle East… (see what I am saying… few is really not even close….)  

But anyway.

One place I would love to go is this woman’s kitchen.  I stumbled upon her blog accidentally… I don’t even know when.  And I cant’ remember if I told you about her, but I am kind of stalking her.  Because … I want to go to her house for food.  Before I go to Ireland…. Italy… Greece… Spain… North Africa… The Middle East… you get the point.

I wonder if she has cranky, knife-dropping, hive-prone chicas to her house…. I wonder if she knows how to make lemon drops….

Proud Italian Cook

(this better look like a hyperlink when I am done, damnit…)

So I’m in the grocery store last night.

I had just finished my nightly walk - a huge success, by the way. I didn’t trip over any small animals, or things like my own shoes.

Anyway, I was kind of looking like a hot mess, and wanted to just get in, grab my few items and get out of there. So I was in the baking aisle (I know what you’re thinking… were you lost?) And I heard a woman say, “So have you had the spotted dick?”

I was ready to say, ‘look, I realize I look tough but that’s no reason to make gross assumptions’ when I noticed she was asking a man that question. And then I felt, you know, like I was in the middle of the kind of conversation that only takes place in the free clinic.

He responded, “Not for a long time. My family has a spotted dick it is quite proud of.”

Braggart.

I guess.

After they walked passed me I looked up on the shelf and noticed this:

Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.