Cher Blanc Square Bowls Rochelle Gold Serving Bowl
I've been using Blue Apron for two entire weeks now, so I think that obviously qualifies me to give my expert opinion on it. (That is a joke. But I still want to write about it because I finally hopped on the food-delivery train four years after everyone else, and now I obviously need to be the 1,994,854th person to weigh in.)
Here are the reasons that I pshawed about Blue Apron (and similar services) for years:
Hey there buddy.
OK sooooo this weekend was a bit of an emotional hailstorm, between my daughter's second birthday and my son's first day of school today. Not a "bad" hailstorm, per se...just, you know: feelings. Like, all of them. (Evidence is presently over on my Snapchat @ramshackleglam.)
So while I have bazillions of photos to show you and tons of things I want to write about, let's keep it light today. It's Monday. Nobody needs any more feelings on a Monday; they need OCTOPUS CAKE. (I'm going to officially call this the Under The Sea Cake, because that sounds prettier, but excuse me did you see that octopus? He's adorable, and I think he should probably make an appearance on every cake I make forever and always.)
Jello Pudding makes everything better.
I spent last night and the bulk of this morning writing a massive post exploring my getting-fired-from-It's-Always-Sunny-In-Philadelphia story through the lens of gender and sex in the workplace. It's essentially a retelling of the post I wrote on the subject many years ago, but it's only over the past couple of years that I've started to understand that what I went through, while devastating, wasn't especially unique - and I think that's an important part of the story to explore. (I also wanted to tell the story again because my first try was terribly written and I'm annoyed about that.) I didn't publish it here because you've already read parts of it if you've been reading RG for awhile, but if you'd like to check it out it's over on Medium.
Anyway. I'm exhausted and headache-y from the exercise of dredging up decade-old feelings, and so today? I am going to write about refrigerators.
I don't make this salad very often. And that's not because I don't like it all that much...it's because I like it so much that I cannot stop eating it, even when it's 3 o'clock in the morning and I just stirred from my slumber ever-so-slightly when all of a sudden the words "COLD PASTA SALAD" propelled me towards the kitchen, where I later discovered myself standing in front of my refrigerator holding an empty Tupperware.
It's not a pretty sight. (It is, however, rather fun.)
But occasionally - like for my friend Elise's daughter's beach birthday party - I can be persuaded to whip up a batch.
Lunch.
This is the best summer cocktail in the universe. Hyperbole, you say? 'Tis not. Frosé is essentially a tarted-up slushie for grownups, except instead of Berry Berry Buzz or whatever, it tastes like...wine. Except better.
