Red Ivy

Hudson loves my cooking and I freely admit that I learned to cook from watching Food Network. So the other day he heard that Food Network is looking for new talent and he got the idea to submit me. I've been told by a few people that I should have a cooking show, and well, fast-forward to last night: I stood in our kitchen and whipped up polenta with sautéed mushrooms and onion marmalade while Hudson captured it all on video. OMG! Really? How stressful can you get? Talking while cooking and stirring and chopping? And 3 minutes just evaporates in a time warp so with an economy of words I tried to be instructionally sound. I tried to convey a sense of myself while being concise at the same time, plus remembering to sell my culinary point of view and cover any mistakes with a natural flair that everyone would forgive. Whew! Hmmm, typical Monday? Get home, feed dogs and cats, prep ingredients for dinner, write a food review to meet my Mid-City Press newspaper deadline, then chang

OK, I was doing online research for some new recipes when I came upon this item and figured, heck, I already blogged about Poop Pig , so why not continue to share? An Indiana delicacy "Fried Brain Sandwich" caught my eye. I understand that inhabitants in certain geographic regions develop tastes for old time fare that their forefathers ate, but how some of these 'delicacies' survive is astounding to me. There was even a pretty good photo of said sandwich. No real recipe, it just says Cow Brain, oil for frying, bun, pickle and onion. A cow's brain is quite sizable because the bun looked pretty large and there was so much brain making up a large margin way outside the bun. Apparently they don't do a 1/2 order, nope, whole brain. OK. There is no need for me to go any further with this information other than to say that I applaud the "waste no part" philosophy, but even if I was on Fear Factor and looking at a hefty check -- I couldn't get down

Let me explain. For about 5 years I've found that every time I take a shower I sneeze approximately 40 times. No kidding. I'm pretty used to it now, but it is alarming to people who hear me in the throws of a sneeze-fest. How do I know it's about 40 times? Well, a gal's gotta do something while she's hanging onto the shower wall trying not to slip and fall down while rapid-fire sneezes rack her body... so I count. I also reflect on why the sneezing is in the shower. What is the cause? Perplexing. Hudson has urged me to see an allergist, but I've refused because even if they figure out what it is, I'm not going to take shots or medication for it. I'm stubborn about medication, what can I say? The other day I wondered if I'm the only one who has this condition and typed "sneezing in the shower" into the Google search window. Plenty of people have this and they were all over medical posting sites looking for a cure. Some doctors dismissed

I'm thinking of secretly submitting the forms for Cheryl to be a contestant on one of those design stars shows. Here's what I've admired since the 'tank top' sighting: At our recent company beach party most of us were dressed in shorts and t-shirts -- all the better to play volleyball or sit in the sun. But Cheryl appeared in an old white vintage Victorian dress that buttoned snugly up under her chin and dragged the ground as she drifted about like a ghost wearing an enormous white gauze and net wrapped bee-keepers hat under a big white umbrella that she carried and twirled. I didn't see her eat anything (bummer cuz the food rocked!) but maybe that was because it would be difficult to maneuver things like salad and chips with guacamole up under the hat netting to her mouth... Last week Cheryl capped off her slutty 80s phase with a strapless black spandex ballerina top, a belt that was kinda like a corset -- easily 6 inches wide -- plus a pair of hot pants th

You may recall that when I last visited my mother's home, she had a 10X magnifying mirror in her brightly-lit bathroom that I couldn't look away from. She had to distract me from non-stop cleansing and inspecting and masking before I did some major damage to my skin. Well I just read in the Chicago Tribune that there are two main obsessions that fuel the beauty industry: acne and pore size. The other day I bought a 10X magnifying mirror of my own and used it to tweeze my brows... but then couldn't step away from the mirror. I mean, it's like discovering things under a microscope that you'd suspected existed, but had never seen before. Now I have to fight the urge to take the mirror outside sit out in the sun staring at my face under magnification. Holy shit! Am I one of the women who has created the over $40 billion cosmetic tidal wave that perpetuates the unachievable goal of perfection! Thank God I don't have acne, but I've just realized that I'm f