“Absence makes the heart grow fonder.” ~Wise Dude
Hello friends and devoted followers! I would like to deeply apologize for the lack of activity on DomesticateMe this summer. There are several reasons for our prolonged absence. First, Liberty received her pastry diploma in June! Can I get a “OUI, CHEF!”? She will elaborate on exactly what this entailed, but it was no cakewalk!* I managed to pass intermediate cuisine, despite a rather gruesome final exam (highlights of which included hacking off the talons of the guinea fowl I was given). Unfortunately, due to a glitch that I choose to attribute to Cordon Bleu’s administrative department (and not to my poor planning skills), the summer session of superior cuisine was full. So, Liberty and I bid Paris au revoir and a bientot respectively, and we returned to America for the summer. While Liberty jetted off to Chicago to take some pre-med classes, I spent my time bouncing around the country.
Since we went dark for so long, Liberty and I thought we should each update our readers on what exactly we did this summer.** Well, I would love to say that I was very busy and important. So, I will. I like to view my activities this summer as “research” in cooking and entertaining. Highlights include: cooking while camping (god I loved that JetBoil), experiments in hungover feasts, and cooking for friends and loved ones who fancy themselves food critics (you know who you are). Don’t worry about the details. (I certainly didn’t.)
While I don’t have much to report, I suppose I should come clean and tell you that I am now in a relationship. I share this purely to promote this blog. No, this is not a joke, and yes, he is a mature, successful, upstanding member of society:
I’m not going to tell you that I attracted a man because I have spent the past year becoming a domestic goddess. I’m sure you already figured that out. Am I saying that if you read this blog and become an awesome cook and host/hostess, you will automatically land your dream boyfriend/girlfriend? No, of course not. But it certainly can’t hurt.***
I returned to Paris two weeks ago, and I have spent the past two weeks in superior cuisine (aka chef bootcamp) getting my groove back. I have already cut the tip of my thumb off with a mandolin, burnt the shit out of my hands, filleted 3 different types of fish, beheaded two very sad-looking guinea fowl, and been asked if I was “retarded” by one very angry French chef after committing some still unspecified kitchen faux pas. We’re off to a promising start.
It terrifies me to think of how you managed to perform indoor activities this summer without the expert guidance and support that Liberty and I provide on this blog. That said, I hope you used this hiatus to re-read old posts/practice your basic skills, and that you remain housebroken at this time. Even if all of your meals and attempts at entertaining fucking sucked this summer, it’s time to get back on the horse. Now that Liberty is in Scotland doing math problems and trying to marry Gerard Butler,* Bay (my most glorious roommate) has moved to London, and all of my former school friends have graduated and left me behind, I will have lots of free time to dedicate to my own domestication. And yours. While this fall’s agenda may involve more experiments in “cooking for one” than last spring’s, I promise to do my best to come up with simple and delicious things for you to try at home. I made an egg-white fritatta with goat cheese and spicy tomato sauce this morning. What did you have?
So, stock your fridge and refresh your liquor cabinet, because it’s time to get back in the kitchen. Liberty and I are about to heat shit up.
*Lame pun, but I am already a “blogger.” I figure I don’t have much left to lose…
**Don’t worry, Liberty is going to post a detailed update about exactly what the fuck she is doing in Glasgow. AND she’s going to bake some really sweet shit for you this fall.
***However, if you are already an excellent cook/entertainer and aren’t getting much action, you may want to evaluate other aspects of your life. Such as your wardrobe. Or your hair.