Savor the Flavor

This year, my partner, myself, and her step family went up to Cape Cod for a wedding. We rented an AirBnB, which, on in the interior, looked like a 50 year old white womans vision board exploded. There were the usual crosses, three to four “Live Laugh Love” signs, and a couple throw pillows embroidered with lobsters surrounding bible verses.

Anyone I’ve dated, been friends with, or even sat next to on a subway will tell you I’m nosy. I read texts from afar with my freakishly good eye sight and have an implusive need to dig through cabinets and drawers in unfamiliar places. (Plz don’t report me to Airbnb my visitor score can NOT take another hit).

While sifting through one of the many white whicker end tables within Karen’s beachfront property, I located this cookbook:

The title “Savor the Flavor” immedietly made me think of every porn-stache I had ever seen and I was intrigued. I had some time to kill anyway while Rosana debated between two identical black blazers to wear out in the room next door.

Under appetizers was this gem:

OK PEGGI. Coming in hot with the slutty sauce.

First off, this is a book of recipes to help bring you closer to our lord and savior Jesus H Christ and you’re gonna go ahead and submit a dish basically named “whore sauce” ???? The fact that she slipped this past the priest at the River of Life Fellowship makes me kinda want to be her friend. Maybe it’s a test to see which ladies at the fellowship take a bite and are instantly smited by J. Christ himself.

If the slut sauce didn’t wet your appetite, don’t worry! There are more appetizers to choose from.

There is also:

Now, I don’t believe any single part of this dish qualifies it as a “salad.” Last I checked, 7-UP nor Jello were considered a vegetable. Maybe Loach Schwendeman should have helped coach his daughter in law in the basics of  the food pyramid so she was better able to identify what is an acceptable food to serve other humans. My favorite part of this recipe is where she asks her fellow god fearing chefs to “add mashed up cream cheese” and then immediatly “stir in pineapple and 7-UP” as if that’s a normal, non psychotic behavior.

Now, here’s where it gets ~dramatic~ . Loach himself submits the EXACT SAME RECIPE on the next page. He just mixes up the words “Jello” and “7-UP” as if no one will notice?!?!?

?!?!?!?!!? Loach. come ON. Let Sandy have this ONE THING.

Have you ever thought to yourself, “Man, I really wish I could pick an old penny up off the disgusting sidewalk and suck on it” – no? Well Roe Curiale sure has.

Apparantly, Roe thinks pennies taste like chilled mustard, tomato soup, vinegar, and Worsestershire sauce! In other news, I’m pretty sure this is EXACTLY what dirty street pennies taste like- so great job Roe!

Next up were the entrees:

The first entree confused me because it neither 1) contained foods with ANY nutritional value or 2) was an entree

Paula seems to be confused about whether a large package of ricotta and sugar constitutes an actual meal. I mean, listen, I would 1000% put this in my mouth, it sounds delicious, but I’m also certain I would clog every artery I have in the process of eating this monstrosity.

If you don’t want your blood to turn into Molasses, there is also:

Ingredient #1: Boston Butt.

What in the ever living fuck is a boston butt????? Is it a cow? Is it just an ass? Is it a cow’s ass? FILL ME IN

Incredient #2: can of Pepsi

You’ve again lost me here George. You couldn’t even splurge on some Coca Cola???

Ingredient #3 &4 : Mushroom soup mix and dry onion soup mix

..is this to add flavor to the already fizzy soda ass meat?

He follows that up with:

GEORGE. Stop putting second rate sodas into all of your recipes?? This recipe is essentially pancakes on crack. What is your cholesterol like?!

Last but not least- dessert!

No one even wanted to attach their name to this. For me- the most insulting part of this dish is where it says “Blend all ingredients together real easy.” Ew.

Also- does this not get chilled?? WHO is eating room temperature yogurt and sour cream?!

Or, after you’ve had your 7-UP salad and Pepsi Pork, you could round out the meal with some:

Just in case cookies weren’t unhealthy enough- why not CRUSH SOME CHIPS INTO IT.

Based on these recipes, the parishioners of this church wanted to meet Jesus sooner rather than later. Most likely in the form of death due to impossibly high Cholesterol.

Huge thanks to the lovely people of the “River of life fellowship”- you’ve now proved to me that God’s bounty DEFINITELY contains more second rate soda than I ever could have imagined.

 

What’s your sign?

So, I know I’m a Taurus. I know this because I know my birthday. I did just learn this year though that not only should you know your horoscope sign, but apparently your rising sign too? Or is it called a moon sign? Whatever. Apparently there are more than one sign for each person. I now know this because I live in Williamsburg where “What are your signs (plural) ” is the second or third question you are asked during every casual conversation.

I can’t figure out my moon and/or rising sign because I don’t know what time of day I was born. Turns out: neither does my father. (I’ve already brought this up during SEVERAL arguments with him. Even discussed it with my therapist, who said, and I quote: “How old are you again?”) I also don’t know where my birth certificate is. My father probably threw it in the trash along with the MEMORY OF MY BIRTH.

ANYWHO, when I have mentioned the fact that I don’t know my other astrological signs I was yelled at by:

• a large bartender at my local gay bar who pulled out his phone to google “What time are most babies born” so he could approximate my moon sign
• my old roommate who spit her nightly cup of champagne out onto her tarot cards in horror
• My own girlfriend who told me she will call the hospital I was born at herself to get my birth certificate SOLEY for the purpose of seeing if our moon signs are aligned

So, disregarding my other signs, I can still confidently say I am a Taurus. Which according to Cosmopolitan.com means that as far as my personality goes: “Tauruses are famous for their stubbornness, but there’s more to them then that… they’re a bit of dark horse.”

Now.. both those qualities seem…. bad?

As I am writing this post, I am reading this article through and it doesn’t really get much more complimentary from there in regards to us Tauruses.

This is an actual quote from the cosmo article written by Kerry Ward:

“Qualities: PERSERVERENCE (read: possessed). My god, if you want something done then ask a Taurus. There is no task or challenge that will beat them, they have endless reserves of tenacity, patience and resilience. Like the tide on the shore, they’ll just keep coming back at it – Until it’s something which, seriously, it’s like time to move on from i.e. relationships, feuds, etc.”

OK Kerry…. Idk which Taurus boy left you on read or sent you 18 “u up” texts at 3am before you had to block their number but #NotAllTauruses.

Also, who the fuck makes Kerry and/or Cosmo an expert on astrology?! Cosmo once told me to stick my thumb in a dudes butthole without asking while going down on him as a “sexy surprise” in an article I read when I was 13…. and I can firmly say that if anyone (male or female) stuck their thumb in my ass without warning ever… I would rip their face off.

So…. Here’s three things I know after being AND dating a Taurus.

1. Tauruses are what I like to call “Goldilocks texters.” We like it when you text us, but not too little, and not too much. As in, text when you’re on your way home and to check in, but if I have we have to answer 4-6 questions in a row about if a brunch menu is “chill enough” for your next Hinge date…  we OUT.
2. FUCK OFF WITH THAT MARIE KONDO SHIT. Tauruses like their memories tangible. YES I am going to keep all of the ticket stubs to the concerts we have seen together even though I spilled nail polish remover in that drawer and now they’re the consistancy of tapioca pudding.
3. Tauruses like cozy. and comfy. I once had a boy claiming he knew how to “make me a fan of minimalism” come into my god fearing home and tell me to throw away all of my sweatpants and sweatshirts. “It will force you to dress nicer!” he argued over the sound of me throwing every pair of shoes I had at him while screaming “let me know how a pencil skirt feels when YOU get YOUR period!”

 

I might be a “dark horse” but at least I’ve never put an unexpected thumb in an ass.

 

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