I once dated someone that only used Ivory soap. Whenever I smell Ivory, I think of them.

I have now accepted that I hate the feel of sushi rice in my hand. This is a brilliant dinner to shove down my gullet.

I have been learning that the secret to Indian food is cook it for hotter and longer than my suburban white girl instincts tell me to.

I cannot deal with existential angst today so here is food: 5.5 quarts of roasted chicken stock and a quart of sauerkraut…and a great cup of coffee.

It’s official. This am weaning myself off the horror that FB has become.