The best things in life are …………………………………………………………………………fried. It’s true. Maximum guilt is intrinsically linked to maximum pleasure. Sex is good, but sex in an elevator is better. You may feel guilty that old Mrs. Crotchet and her poodle caught you doing it doggie style when the lift doors opened too soon, but that makes it all the more memorable. And devilish. Which is equally true of these Halloween-themed beignets. They are Halloween-themed because they’re made of pumpkin and I served them with black garlic-maple butter. Note the trifecta of sweet sin: Read more

*Aside- Doods! I’m nominated in two categories (Best Writing Voice and Most Humorous Blog) for the Foodbuzz blog awards. If you can find it in your heart to vote for me, go HERE. Voting ends October 17th.

I spend the month of October in a dithered state. Perhaps the most important day of the year falls on the 31^st.  In anticipation, I pace and fret like a teenage boy in need of a sock and some hand cream. There is no way for me to blow my Halloween wad besides interminably waiting for the day to come, which I hearken with French horns played by purple poodles standing on their haunches with their doggie lipsticks out in full salute. In the meantime, I content myself by dreaming up fancy orange and black food that does not contain candy corn or shit smears of fondant.

One such creation is this pumpkin spaghetti served with roasted red pepper and squid ink sauce. Too often, the savory side of Halloween is overlooked. I offer this dish as a foil to all the candy you’re sure to inevitably cram in your gob. I know this because I saw you at Costco buying three value packs of Three Musketeers even though you live in a condo with a secure entrance and the only trick-or-treater you get is the pizza delivery guy. Read more

Have you gone completely insane like me? Do you keep your sourdough starter on your counter in two separate containers that you’ve affectionately named Toby and Sassafras? Are you constantly in search of things to do with the starter, to the point that this week you’ve tucked it into chocolate cake and stew and next up you’re thinking of building a sourdough car?

I’m guessing probably not, which is why I need an intervention. Like stat. It’s really bad, people. I pet my starters when I feed them. I coo at them. My husband had to stop me from bringing Sassafras into bed the other night. I was worried she’d get too cold in the kitchen. Read more