This is a powerhouse post. If you stick around to the end, you’ll walk away with two mind-bending recipes, each containing enough magic sparkle sauce to put a permanent spell on a dishy prince (should that be your aim). You will also learn a lot, but not in a “Charlie Brown versus the Adults” kind of way, more in the “let’s all get together and figure this out while singing Kumbaya”-style.

So first, you remember how it’s Doughvember? If you need a quick catch-up, Doughvember is the month where we join forces to master the art of sourdough. If you want in, either make a starter (use Nicole’s handy instructions!) or revive your starter, and post, tweet or otherwise fling sourdough from the rooftops. If you’re the posse type, @ me on twitter and I’ll add you to the @saltyseattle/doughvember list. We’re using the hashtag #doughvember to aggregate our doughy coterie.

I knew when the idea for Doughvember first came about that I wanted to recreate the trashy-yet-classy American dish known as “egg-in-the-hole” or “eggs-in-a-basket” depending where you live. Me being me, however, I also knew I couldn’t simply plop an egg in a hollowed-out piece of toast and call it breakfast without you calling me on my lack of creativity. So I massaged the concept until out spooged the happiest of happy endings that you see here. It’s a sourdough bagel that has been lye-dipped to improve color and crust texture, then topped with a sous vide soufflé. It is like the lovechild of John Waters and Marilyn Monroe- sexy, dirty, vampy, campy, dewy and a little bit whorish. Let’s just say it’s impossible to eat without having impure thoughts. Read more

There are pistachios and then there are pistachios. The first time I had pistachios I was riding bitch in my dad’s Chevy Luv and he offered to let me “drive,” meaning he pulled me onto his lap and let me man the wheel. We hulled pistachios with our teeth and spit the shells out the permanently rolled-down drivers’ side window. I had so much fun I forgot my hard-earned lessons in toilet training and peed on his legs. I must have been about four. The pistachios were good- sufficient for my post-toddler tastebuds.

The first time I had pistachios I was in Naples, Italy. I was 19 and on a solo backpacking tour of Europe. I had just arrived in Naples after a harrowing experience in Corfu, Greece at the Pink Palace. The Pink Palace is the kind of place that makes you slam shots of fuchsia-hued ouzo on the shuttle bus before you’ve even checked in to the hostel. The Pink Palace is the kind of place that makes you wear a toga to dinner, and further, a staffer performs a creepy gym class-style hand check to make sure you are sans undergarments beneath the cheap sheet. The Pink Palace is the kind of place where you are forced to room with three girls from Saskatchewan who make fun of you for being American even though one of them has trouble naming the Canadian provinces. These same three girls make a pact not to sleep with anyone later that night. Read more

This quickie dessert is freakishly easy to pull together and impresses the pants off your booze-brined compadres post-dinner. It combines two of my favorite things- Margaritas and eggs. It’s also suitable for those with little bundt cakes in their easy-bake ovens (ie preggies) and also bundt cakes that have emerged from easy-bake ovens (ie children). That’s because the alcohol gets cooked out, but don’t fear. It’s the perfect dessert to wash down with a pint of Patron, which will really chase the winter blues away. Read more