Amelia and Joy the Baker have never met. But I know they would get along because they’re both what I could consider “peanut butter enthusiasts.”
Amelia, in her little time on this planet, has tried peanut butter every which way: cheap creamy peanut butter (read: Jiff), all-natural chunky peanut butter, smokey peanut butter, and even peanut butter mixed with honey. She prefers her peanut butter vessels to be human spoons, slices of apple, bananas or even sneakily off the side of a bowl. She does not discriminate.
Joy prefers her peanut butter on coupled with bacon, and in smoothies, and in her new book, Homemade Decadence, she puts PB on a bed of buttery chocolate crumbs and tops it with perfectly whipped cream and calls it a pie. An-omg-yes-please-pie.
Holy wow! You lovely people read from all around the globe. I had no idea. How special. How awesome. Thank you thank you! I made you something kind of ridiculous. Think of it sort of like a thank you in form of chocolate and peanut butter. Best kind of thank you!
I’ve had this idea to make a gigantic Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup for a long time. I don’t eat a lot of candy. I don’t, but OMG do I love peanut butter cups. They’re my weakness when I go to the movies, but I never buy them because it makes me mad that they’re like $4 at the movie theater and $1 at the drug store. WHY? Movie theater prices are like mini-bar prices but less exciting. No turn down service. No housekeeping. LAME.
So, sometimes I sneak them in my purse. Sometimes I might even go to Chipotle before and sneak in a burrito. So what, who cares?!
I’m the hunt for my first adult couch. Up until now I’ve been living very college-like, mainly because I’d rather buy a pair of shoes or go to a new restaurant or save my money than sit on something nice and grown-up, BUT I’m changing!
I have this weird urge to be a grown-up and I’m thinking buying a piece of furniture might catapult me there. I now realize the only thing worse than shopping for a new apartment, bathing suit and health insurance is shopping for a new couch.
Can we say expensivo. Also: why?! Where’s the happy medium between Ikea and Awesome…at Ikea prices? I need to know this. If you have any affordable/adorable/expensive looking couch recommendations, I’m open! I wanna hear!
We all love Larry David, right? I’m just going to speak for everyone, and say yes, yes we all love Larry David. Now, have you seen his recent parking lot fiasco? He’s confused by the parking lot ticket machine, people are honking, someone has to get out of their car to assist him–the whole thing is just incredible. It made me recall my very own, real life Larry David encounter, and omg did it not disappoint. It was Curb Your Enthusaism in real life. IRL!!!
A few Christmases ago, I was on a flight from LA to Miami. I got off the ridiculously packed flight, headed down to baggage claim and waited–along with the rest of the gajillion people that were on my flight. We waited, and waited, and waited some more. We waited so long that my dad got sick of driving around in circles and finally parked the car to join me in this epically long wait. As we were all learning this horrible lesson in patience, I looked up and noticed this really tall man with bushy grey hair, a wrinkled blazer, faded jeans and a worn baseball cap standing directly in front of me. It was Larry David. And he was looking around looking really, really confused.
A small latin man approached him and told him in broken English that he was his driver. Larry nodded. The driver motioned for him to go to wait in the car. And Larry, in his famous awkward disposition, was like, “Ok, ok, well you’re gonna get my luggage then?” The driver nodded.
Larry wasn’t done. He continued, “Ok, ok, well it’s gonna be the black suitcase. But they’re all gonna be black, so you have to check the tag. It’ll be the black one. Make sure you check the tag.” The driver nodded, obviously having done this a million times. Larry left…only to return, I’m not kidding you, like a minute later. He asked, “Which one is your car? The black one? Which black one?” The driver proceeded to tell him which black car was his. Larry left. Again.
This is kind of an insane recipe title. I understand. I do.
You’re really supposed to be gawking at a fried fluffernutter sandwich, BUT when I posted the picture (above) on Instagram/Twitter, people started asking me if it was French toast. I was conflicted.
Do I fry these cute little heart shaped marshmallow things? Or do I just put it in a pan with a little butter? Sort of a no-brainer, right? Yes, total no-brainer.
French toast sounds healthier. We like this…even if it’s a total lie, we still like it. Also, if you want to be a total psycho, you can even have this for breakfast, rather than for dessert. I have no objections. Lastly, no hot oil.
Hot oil isn’t romantic; French toast is (I think?)…