Did you ever forge your mother’s signature? I did. Once. And of course I got caught. Duh. That’s how it always goes.
I was 10 years old and got a detention. I’m not afraid to say that my mama scared me when I was little. I didn’t mess with her. So I figured it’d be way easier and less terrifying to just forge her pretty yet complicated signature. She did (and still does) have a really beautiful signature. Think writing out of Downton Abbey (I’m obsessed!).
So, I sat in my room and practiced and practiced and practiced. After about a hundred attempts I totally nailed it. Feeling successful, I turned in the signed detention and started serving my time. I was having fun, actually. The teacher who supervised detention didn’t have anything under control and I remember laughing and joking with kids in the back of the room. It got sort of quiet for some reason and I remember hearing high heels clacking down the hall. At the door was my mama, looking super sharp in a business lady suit, giving me a glare that was SO scary. OMG did I stop laughing. She was truly terrifying.
I like to think that galettes are like lazy, messy, casual pies. You only sorta have to roll them out. You only sorta have to make them look pretty. But really, the messier the better. It’s about the easy.
I can’t really think of a meal of the day where easy is most welcomed than on a cold, hazy January morning.
Let’s have pie for breakfast. But let’s leave the fruit for the summer. It’s January. So, pie…with runny eggs, lots of cheese and salty bacon.
I know a few days ago I was totally publicly flirting with Fall, talking about pumpkin this and cuddle that and apple cider whatever…and here I am posting this recipe with slices of heirloom tomatoes and fresh pesto.
I’m sort of all over the place, but that’s what you get during this awkward period between seasons. My brain isn’t sure what’s appropriate. My heart knows to look for cheese for the answers…
Sometimes I do things I’m not so proud of. This is true.
Like…putting ice cubes in white wine. I’m impatient. I dunno…in the privacy in my own house I like “mom” wine. Gross.
I sometimes buy three bags of groceries and then decide I don’t want to cook and go out to eat instead. Total brat.
I’m also known to back out of Saturday night plans…because sometimes sitting on the couch internet stalking–for some reason–sounds like WAY more fun. Lame. Totally lame.
I’m really bad at returning library books. I found two under my bed. I’m guessing I now owe LA County Library like thousands of dollars for two $10 books from the 70s. I’m also pretty convinced that those fees are going to end up at the DMV. LA doesn’t play.
Sometimes though…sometimes I do really good things.
Like look at my friends dead in their eyes and tell them that I love them. This makes them super awkward and squirm in their seat. And then they usually just tell me to shut up.
I really dig telling strangers “bless you” when they sneeze. They’re always pleasantly surprised.
Whenever a boy, who I don’t know, opens the door for me, I look at them in their face and smile extra hard. And not in a I-like-you-let-me-make-you-eggs-and-bacon kind of way, but in a thank-you-for-being-a-damn-gentlemen way…now let’s get married!! JK.
No, no. I just like saying thank you the proper way, that’s all.
If I’m feeling particularly rich, I’ll put $2 (instead of $1) in my barista’s tip jar. They totally deserve more. Maybe more money and a hug? I’m a handful without coffee.
I can also turn a sandwich into a pizza. I think this qualifies as one of the good things I did recently.
Not sure if you all recall, but a few months ago a reporter asked Kate Moss what one of her favorite quotes was. She replied with: “Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels.” Umm…isn’t that hilarious…and sorta sad? I mean, I’m grateful for her honesty. Thank heavens she’s not that skinny while scarfing down hamburgers and fries on a daily basis. I’m glad she came clean about depriving herself of all things awesome.
When I’m really super bored, I sometimes dream about what I would feed her. My first instinct is to whip her up some pancakes. Lots of them. But what I really think would make her to cave in are these Baked Portobello Fries with Basil Aioli. You see, the word “baked” means they’re healthy. I think she’d dig that. I mean, I did.
I saw them on a menu at this restaurant across town, but didn’t order them since I wasn’t in the mood for something fried. I was kinda feeling like Kate, so I ordered a whole pizza instead. I couldn’t stop thinking about them after that night, vowing to drive over there just for them, but it never worked out. That’s when I decided to take my craving/curiosity into my own hands and make them myself. And boy, am I glad I did.