Banned Words for Food Writers + Giveaway

-Some of this shit stops now.-

Dear Food Writers, Bloggers, Etcetera. The following words are now banned. Please be on note.

These words have been banned because they are pedantic, unimaginative, and dull. Reckless use of these words will result in a public flogging, followed by nude walk down the nearest major street where the locals will be instructed to point and laugh at your genitals.

Food writing should be clever, thoughtful, witty, informative, timely, or something straddling combinations of all that. It should not be "good."

You have been warned.

Good: Why? Why is it "good?" Was it not fantastic? Was it not horrible? "Good" doesn't say anything except that it was something pleasing. You have to tell me why it was good. Rough cuts of potatoes? The delightful bits of charring? The subtle use of lavender in the pastry cream that brought out the floral qualities of the strawberries? Give me more than "good."

Bad: See above.

Nice: See above. Also, I will fucking slap you.

Great: See above. Seriously, just no more blah and boring words. Remember what your English teacher in high school said, "Show, not tell." Don't tell me it was great, show me why it was great.

Hot Hot Hot: White Sangria Popsicles

-Tasty popsicles with booze and summer fruit.-

It's so damn hot this week I could wring myself out and fill a kidding pool with sweat. That's not too much of an exaggeration, mind you. It's been reaching the triple digits here with enough regularity that you could cook an egg to it (and probably do it on the sidewalk).

The new house has good insulation and trees so high they provide excellent shade, and while I worry that they may snap and crash into the roof one day during a winter windstorm, that's a disaster I'll worry about later. For now, shade. Glorious shade. It keeps the house under 85 degrees for the most part, which isn't too bad.

Now, we were going to do some other energy saving tricks to keep the heat down. We had glorious plans to install an attic fan to suck all the stale heat out from above, and two ceiling fans in order to move cool air around inside. Sadly, these plans were dashed when we first turned on the original furnace.

VG Kitchen Remodel: The Final Reveal

So we started with this:

Beat up. Old. Tired. No working appliances. An extra door. Five god damn layers of linolium. Popcorn ceilings. Sofits. Broken pipes. Busted cabinetry. A light box. Scratched paint.

You get the idea.

Now. Three months later, a lot of backbreaking work, too many trips to Home Depot, and more than a few spousal arguments and grey hairs later.

-SHAZAM!-

Stalwart: Pickled Jalapenos

-Spicy perfection.-

I was pretty much an angelic child. I rarely ever got in trouble and had an immaculate record in school. When I got home from school I would do my chores (clean the bathroom, clean up the dog messes in the yard, check if any dishes need cleaning) and then immediately do my homework. All of this, mind you, without being asked. My parents, a therapist and a third grade teacher, pretty much had me trained.

Aside from that my manners were impeccable due to years cotillion and manners classes (which, yes, is an actual thing people subject their children to), and my mom stabbing me repeatedly in the arm with a fork at the dinner table whenever she saw my elbow even caress the tabletop. Secretly, I think she delighted when she pitchforked me in the funny bone.

I was, however, a rather picky eater. A very picky eater. Partially because when it came to food I was willful. No cauliflower, no creamed corn, no asparagus, no peaches, no strawberries, no spinach, no carrots, no peas, nothing unrecognizable, and no steamed vegetables at all. And they were always steamed, so I never got why my mom didn't just cut them up raw and save herself the trouble.

The Cons: Vanilla Bean & Ghost Pepper Kumquat Marmalade

The kitchen is close to done. Not quite, but almost. That's another story, which at the moment I am unable to tell because if I do I'll suffer a conniption fueled from pure rage. So apologies if I need a week or two in order keep my blood inside my head on not spritzed upon my newly painted teal walls.

"And aren't they a beautiful shade of teal?!" is what I howl to the poor Mormon missionaries and UPS delivery men who by bad luck or unfortunate karma are forced to come to my door. Some are smart enough to run before I begin to detail how I installed the Cotton Valley Oak flooring. 

Instead, I'll bitch about something else today. First world problems. Who else has got 'em, right? How terrible it is that I am spending the Pride weekend in my brand new house putting together brand new Ikea furniture? How I suffer eating in my new dining room. What is that, husband? You picked up the wrong wine for the roast chicken with apricots? We can't drink Chardonnay! WHAT ARE WE, SAVAGES?!

So it hasn't been that bad, but let's talk fruit trees again. I know I was overjoyed at the prospect of now having them and how I was going to plant more, but I have quickly familiarized myself with the "con" side of the list.

Allow me to elaborate a few of these items: