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This Halloween, I dressed up as Bella Swan from the popular book series that is the literary pinnacle of teen angst and self-destructive obsession: Twilight. The problem? I’m 29 years old. But, like, whatever, okay? I like, totally looked like Bella/Kristen Stewart/someone more than a decade younger than me. Like, for serious. And my husband, Joey, was a smokin’ Edward, complete with ruby lips, pallid complexion, mussed hair, and, oh yes, glittery skin. You Edward fans know what I’m talkin’ bout. Mmm hmm. That’s right. Check it:
Don't we look intense?
Yes, I admit it. I’m a Twilight fan. I can’t help it. The plot lines are addicting, the characters are mesmerizing, and Stephenie Meyer’s writing, although not uber-intellectual, keeps the reader hooked from beginning to end. The movie version of Twilight, in a word, sucked, but it allowed me the opportunity to watch a 14-year-old or so girl sitting two rows in front of me in the movie theater scream like the banshee every time Edward came on the screen (confession: I did the same when Edward’s “father,” Carlisle Cullen, made his premier in the first hospital scene), as well as rock back and forth in her seat for the entire movie. It was funny. And disturbing.
And to prove that my friends are also book nerds, here is a photo of Angie as Hermione from Harry Potter.
Yes, that it is Quidditch manual in her hand. Yeah, we’re lit geeks. Ya jealous?
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to hunt down movie clips from the soon-to-be-released New Moon, which is guaranteed to be about five kajillion times better than Twilight. Three words: Jacob is ripped. Too bad Taylor Lautner, the actor who plays Jacob Black, was born in 1992, right around the time when I was lusting after Zack Morris. Ah well, that’s the beauty of fantasy books, isn’t it?
I’ll leave you with yet another sweet picture of Joey & me acting out the cheesiest quote of the entire Twilight series: “And so the lion fell in love with the lamb.”
“Stupid lamb.” ~ Bella Swan
A while back, I was perusing The Kitchen Sink Recipes blog and came across an enticing (and simple!) recipe for Bucatini Carbonara. With a short, little ingredient list of but seven low-cost items, I was instantly sold and resolved to pick up a few leeks* and some delectable, marbled pancetta on my next grocery trip. I chose to you the more accessible spaghetti noodle for my pasta over the trickier-to-find bucatini and doubled the recipe to accommodate a small crowd, but, other than that, I stayed true to Kristin’s adaptation of a Gourmet (R.I.P.) creation.
This was my first venture into the unnerving world of egg poaching, and I can attest that it’s really not as difficult a task as it seems. The directions in this recipe detailed a simple and straightforward process and, in no time, I had five lovely, little poached eggs to rest atop five heaping nests of creamy noodles, glistening leeks, and crispy, salty pancetta.
Mama & Papa
As I broke my pepper-speckled egg, my mouth watering as the golden yoke streamed over a browned hunk of pancetta, I took a look around the table at the family who had gathered at my home for dinner and felt truly lucky. I couldn’t help but think that good food is an awful lot like good company: undemanding, humble, and comforting. A night spent with my mom, dad, brother, and husband over a generous plate of carbonara and sourdough bread with which to soak up that delectable sauce and yolk? It just doesn’t get much better than that.
Give this recipe a try and let me know what you think. You might want to do what I did and double it up to feed a group of family members or friends. They’ll be oh-so-grateful and you’ll find ample praise for your newly-minted egg poaching skills. And that’s no yolk (sorry, I had to). 
* Quick Tip: Trader Joe’s (one of the loves of my life) carries a package of two, pre-trimmed, washed leeks. Such an awesome, time-saving find, as leeks tend to be difficult to clean (they are notoriously sand-and-dirt-laden).
Yesterday, I decided to bake a pie. From scratch.
Somehow, in my warped little mind, I concocted a domestic fantasy of June Cleaver proportions in which I would simply and cheerfully whip up a perfect double-crust apple pie during a lazy fall afternoon. As it cooled, I would sit back, relax, and enjoy the heady aroma of cinnamon-and-nutmeg-kissed apples mingling with the scent of the vanguard pastry trio of butter, flour, and sugar. In short, it would be nothing short of a culinary triumph. They would crown me Queen of Crust, Master of the McIntosh, Premier of Pie.
However, as I quickly discovered, pie crust is a fickle friend of the novice baker, simple and subdued at first, but increasingly ill-tempered and just plain nasty over time. It stuck. It cracked. It clumped. It disintegrated. And I was at a loss as to how to smooth it into submission. Julia Child I am not. And Martha? She certainly doesn’t live here.
My guide was an adaptation of a classic apple pie recipe from Martha Stewart that I stumbled upon while visiting The Kitchen Sink Recipes blog. The blog’s author, Kristin, entitled her apple pie post “Easy as Pie.” In retrospect, this title is wonderfully ironic, for although Kristin managed to craft her pie with grace and finesse, this Kristen’s pie-making experience was anything but easy.
It all started happily enough. I began the day like this (excited to don my adorable Anthropologie apron):
Baking is fun!
Midway through the baking process, I expressed my feelings about homemade crust like this:
The crust crumbles...
The pie finally in the oven after hours of peeling, coring, rolling, stirring, and maniacal screaming, I crashed like this:
I don't think June Cleaver took naps.
As the oven timer rang and I fetched the pie from the oven, I felt rejuvenated by the realization that I had actually made a pie, and that it looked edible and perhaps even rustically elegant. And so, when all was said and done, I looked like this:
Praise the heavens, it's a pie!
The moral of the story, dear reader, is that $9.00 for a pie at your local grocery store is a darn good deal. Still, I must admit, it was sort of magical to take this little guy:
and make it into this:
and almost worth all of the physical and emotional suffering to see the look of childlike glee on my husband’s face as he sunk his fork into a plate of homemade apple pie a la mode.
Almost.
