Oh, Hey June.

I promise that I did not stop eating. Or talking about it. Or taking pictures of the things I ultimately eat. Here's proof.

Remind me that we need to have a long conversation about shrimp rolls.

Here is what is happening: we're moving! Not very far, still in Brooklyn, but it requires that we pack up all our - you know - shit. And then take it somewhere else. To cook more. And take more pictures. And stuff our faces and those of the ones we love. July is going to be filled with posts. Promise. For now, please give me ideas of things I can make for dinner that don't require heat.

Also, the McSwayze family made the Huffington Post food page! Check us out here. 

In Case You Are Melting

I joked with my sidekick last night (I wasn't joking) that we've reached the the part of the year where all I want to drink is Mexican beer. The only beer I will fruit - just shove a lime in a Pacifico and send me on my way. I have to admit, when I said that, I'd momentarily forgotten about this bad boy. Allow me to introduce you to the Pucker Up.

If those straws do not make you swoon, you may want to check your pulse.

On Leaving Your Edges Rough

I just saw this and feel compelled to share:



If you have not already read this woman's book, I would suggest that you do. That being said, allow me to be kind of a bitch for second: Gabrielle Hamilton is not a very nice person.

When the Grid Goes Down, at Least I'll Have This

UGH, Blogger.

As some of you may have noticed, the post about the epic dinner party of pork in pastry has been taken down. This is because someone at Blogger rubbed sandpaper on their brains and did some "maintenance". I'll rewrite it soon! Until then, here's something I promised to show off: the new thistle that is going to share the rest of my life with me.

The Godfather - Redux

*Ed note: This post was rescued from interweb purgatory by Marc Balgavy. For this feat of courage he'll receive a whiskey when I see him next.*

Okay, you guys. It's time to talk about it. Well, almost. First, let's talk about how things sometimes take you by surprise. How, sometimes you think that prunes are sort of gross and you don't care about them, and then someone changes your mind.

No one has ever asked me to steam a prune before. Quite frankly, I don't steam much and the recipe for Bacon and Prunes, Baked (Hot) made me realize that I don't really even have a proper steaming basket.

Prelude to a Gut-Bomb

The sun is shining. The temperature is allegedly rising. Soon, you will be invited to a lot more let's-get-together-and-have-a-drink-on-the-roof type things. Let's talk about what to bring. Cold, petite, brightly colored little bites are my personal preference. Especially if what you are eating for your main course is (as was the case a few weeks ago at some dear friends') a gut-bomb of epic proportions.

Let me be clear, the thing we ate for our main course was likely one of the most delicious things any of my friends has ever fed me. It was, however, like a prehistoric ancestor of the Bacon Explosion that none of us can forget. I promise to tell you more about this later, but for now, let's talk about complementing your friends' ritualistic torture of your arteries with some things that are dainty and refreshing.

Armed Only with Garlic-Breath and a Bad Attitude

It's the hap-happiest time of the year.

I know everyone is angry about ramps again this year. Last year we were mad because everyone makes such a big deal out of them. This year we're mad because we're like, diminishing our biodiversity, man. With all due respect, I love you all very much, but please shut up and just let me eat my onions.

Here's Where it Gets Weird

So far, I've been going easy on you guys. I've tried to pick things that are mostly accessible to our palates and our times. Here's where it gets weird.

We've arrived at the the texture my Sidekick dreads the most: JELLY.