Baked Eggs in Avocado:
Look, I know I threw a temper tantrum a few months back when Buzzfeed told me that the trendy food I’m the most similar to is an avocado. I still feel angsty about that. But, I don’t hate avocados, I just don’t think they’re particularly thrilling. If anything, I’m a sun-dried tomato! This morning, I found myself with two avocados and hunger, so I made that recipe that you see people post on Facebook all the time. You cut the avocado in half, plop an egg into the cavity, cover it with whatever spices you like, and bake it for twenty-five minutes. It took way longer to bake than the recipe suggested, and I wasn’t entirely impressed with the way it looked, but when I ate it…I was impressed. The combination of ingredients worked tremendously well together. The hot avocado added an incredible texture to a basic egg, and when I shaved some parmigiano-reggiano from Costco on top, I was totally sold. I’m baking another one now…It has to be healthy! And if not, who cares anymore. I read an article the other day about rats who took medication to turn off a certain gene that encourages bodily decay and they started to live 25% longer and in much better health. I’d like that. I’d take that medicine. I want to live forever. Will avocados do that? Are they really a super food? Comment below, dear readers. [UPDATE: I just drizzled this batch with sesame oil…OH MY GOD SO GOOD.]
Göt2b Salt Infusion Waving Spray:
I love my hair. It’s never been this long before, nor has it ever been this gorgeous. When it was long in high school, I didn’t do shit with it. I don’t think I even conditioned. I’m not sure how I lived. I was weird back then. I don’t like thinking about it. Now that I know how to take care of my hair and deep condition my locks regularly, I find myself frustrated. I have beautifully wavy hair, but for some reason, my hair often goes limp over the course of the day. I really don’t understand how I can go to bed looking like a Grecian Adonis and wake up looking like Medusa. So, I have been on an endless search for a product that will give me the wavy locks I know I can have. It has not gone well. I have bought endless curling gels and creams. I have tried mousses and new blow drying techniques. I even dug a flat iron out and attempted to use that on a friend’s recommendation. Nothing worked. The other night at Walmart, I saw a bottle of this Göt2B product that promised beach-like curls. Out of a sense of schadenfreude, I put it in my basket. In the back of my mind, though, I prayed that this would be the product that would make my hair look the way it did this summer in Nice after I had spent the afternoon swimming in the Mediterranean. I was too scared to try it for a while, but I finally covered my hair in the somewhat unpleasant smelling stuff and dried it. I screamed when I looked in the mirror! I had ringlets and waves. It was too good to be true. I’ve since done it on dry hair and wet hair, and I’m always equally gobsmacked by how much this product actually worked. I love it. And it was so affordable. Get thee to the shops, reader!
I went to Costco for the first time in my life last week, and though I fully anticipated having a good time, I did not expect for my life be richer, fuller, and more blessed for stopping by. I admired the display of small appliances, and the veritable wall of every variety of gin really spoke to me on an emotional level.
But, the aisle that transported me was the one dedicated to cheese. I am passionate about the stuff, and to see so many delicious and massive slabs of cheese was nearly orgasmic to me. I was tempted by a block of sharp cheddar, but then my eye shifted over to one that dared to call itself parmigiano-reggiano. It was just over twelve dollars, and so out of ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ , I bought a wedge. It certainly wouldn’t be any good, and I could laugh the laugh of the riotous, knowing that I would forever have to sacrifice great sums of money for good cheese. Later at home, I sliced into it, perversely thrilled to munch on a low quality piece of cheese, and then I screamed. It wasn’t mock parmigiano. It WAS the same stuff. That same expensive cheese that I have to go to specialty shops and to Whole Foods for. This cheese is worth a membership. I can’t get over it.
Last night, a friend and I decided to read each other’s tarots. I’ve had a long and interesting history with the world of the paranormal, so it was odd that I’d never used a deck of these before. I mean, I saw Sylvia Browne multiple times before her death, I grew up in a haunted house, I’ve explored some locations that are allegedly incredibly supernatural, I’ve been in more graveyards than I can count, and I discussed past lives at length with a woman who thought she was a reincarnated Atlantean priestess on a rooftop in Giza, Egypt. So, it’s a bit weird that I’ve never picked up a deck of tarot cards, something you can get at nearly any bookstore in the world. Maybe I never lent them much credence? I think that’s probably the most likely scenario. I held the tarot cards to my bosom so that they would infuse themselves with my power. I was being quite ridiculous and mocking at this point. I arranged the cards in the order the guidebook told me to go along with, and then I started to dramatically flip them over, detailing my friend’s fortune based on the meanings in the book. They related really rather alarmingly to the question he had asked the cards before I started. I started gasping a little bit myself because it was so strange to have every meaning fit so neatly. And I know that these cards, like astrological horoscopes, are a bit open-ended so that they can apply to any situation, but the arrangement of cards and the meanings seemed a bit too on point. I mean, the one that was about trouble in your immediate future…as I flipped it over, it literally jumped into the flame of a candle. I still can’t figure that one out. I love a rational explanation, but there isn’t one for that. Then I had my cards read, and my heart raced a little bit, because there was a considerable amount of information that made sense. And beyond that, there was a lot of Egyptological symbology on the cards that were drawn for me. There was a sphinx and a scarab beetle and even a few little designs that looked like hieroglyphs. It was shocking. I’m converted to the tarot now and need to get a deck. I believe.
Maison du Croissant:
After I got my wisdom tooth yanked out of my head, I went grocery shopping for some soft food. I didn’t have much at my house since I live off of Cheerios and popcorn, so I needed something that wouldn’t cause the gaping hole in my jaw to be irritated. I had a marvelous time picking out a selection of cheeses, hummus, pastas of every shape, and readymade smoothies. I was in the freezer section looking for my beloved flash-frozen broccoli when I came upon the pastries. I don’t trust anything frozen in America. It just never tastes right. If it was France, I’d happily eat every meal frozen available, but here, everything kind of tastes like shit. Anyway, I saw a bag of frozen croissants. I put them in my cart out for a laugh, the same way I always buy macarons just to see how terrible they are. I’ve been craving a good croissant since I returned from Paris this summer, so I was desperate. With no expectations, I pulled out one of the diminutive things out and let the frozen croissant rise overnight. In the morning, I was legitimately shocked by how much it had risen. With a bit of eagerness, but still resigned that it was going to be awful, I put the croissant in the oven to bake. Skeptically, I watched it brown and start to look just like a Parisian croissant. “This can’t be!” I exclaimed to my cat, Edwin, who sat on the floor with me, staring into the oven window. He only blinked in response, but I assume he agreed. When it was done, I gasped. It felt like a good croissant. It looked and smelled like a good croissant. So, with expectation and great trepidation, I took a bite. A tear ran down my cheek almost immediately. It tasted identical to a decent croissant that you can get in any boulangerie in Paris. I was transported across the Atlanic and I was walking down the Rue Saint Paul. It was too much for me. How could a $4 bag of frozen dough from Walmart be so wonderful? My life is changed. I’m baking chocolate ones right now!