I did that thing again where I just disappear from my blog because I lack focus and also go to the beach a lot. I guess we’ll all just have to accept that I’m a big ole flake at the end of summer. Continue reading
I’ve been trying to figure out what I want to tell you all about this beer can chicken for a few days now.
I’m looking at a dime-sized burn on my wrist, feeling like a real-life, serious, cooks-everything-on-the-grill griller.
Not to hit you with two dessert posts back to back…but that’s exactly what I’m doing. I’m here to give you another dessert post and there’s nothing to be done about that.
Hi guys, as some of you may or may not know, I am Tory’s ~mostly terrible in the kitchen~ BFF Atlee. You can go ahead ask her about the time our Moms went to college together and how we’ve been friends since we were 0 years old and how we were born a day apart, etc etc etc, I’m sure she would love to tell a great Tory Story about it. (V. true. I definitely love telling that Tory Story.)
It’s that time of year when everyone seems to be in the south of France (I mean, what the hell do I need to do to be one of these people?!), gallivanting about in sundresses with a rosé IV stuck in their arm from yacht party to yacht party. (Disclaimer: I work in advertising and it happens to be the Cannes award festival this week…so that’s maybe why you don’t know someone jet-setting off to the French Riviera right now.)
There is perhaps nothing more luxurious than being a lady (or fella) who lunches. An LWL, if you will.