maggiethecat

I love it. I'll watch it every week. It doesn't seem quite as, (although I'm sure it is) scripted as many of these pseudo-competition shows, it's fun to watch, and it's good to suspend belief for an hour a week. But of course the real reason I enjoyed it is because I'm in love with that madman and TV fraud Marco Pierre White. (Friends have told me I have a soft spot for difficult men, and I guess they're right.) Those bespoke shirts, and the way he shoots his cuff, the hair, the checked shoes.... dreamy.

I rarely cut myself, but I have a miserable record of third degree burns when I cook with my father's electric stove. I cook with gas, and I'm not going to enter the gas v electric wars. I know where I am with a gas oven/range. Because I can't see flame with electric I can forget what's hot and what's not. In the last couple of years visiting Ottawa I've actually heard my flesh sizzle -- and smelt it. Blistering, suppurating, long wounds. Lets say, I'm never going to be a hand or arm model.

I want Martha-style cool chickens, the ones who lay blue and green eggs, and have blue and green ears. In fact, I'd be happy with low-rent chickens in my own Palais de Poulets, the chickies scrambling and pecking in the dirt and making me an Egg Empress. And then there was the last recession, when I was young and hopeful, and we almost pulled off the Carrot Cake Caper.

Instant classic. I've committed it to memory.

A Sidecar is an excellent Gateway Drink.

I'm looking forward to the show because the man can cook. But! we need to put an end to this sexist culinary urban legend. Some nubile ladies here (attention all you contribute to the PMS topic) and start a topic here that shows you making mayo when your red-headed cousin comes to call. I think it would be a hoot, and a way to Fight the Power! ETA: I can't imagine a cook/restaurateur like, say, Jacques Pepin's Maman who had to eschew mayo making five days a month.

I can't afford to dine at Spiaggia, but I've never heard anything but fab things about it. I've read that the Obamas (cool, hip well-heeled Chicago foodies) love it, but where and when did the "Favorite chef" come out? More about Tony:You gotta love a Music Major from Kenosha. And you did make me misty-eyed about your chef -- why not send props to the Fine Folks, not the ego-driven jerks?

Fusion ribald and Roadhouse retro are two of my fave ways to eat. Lancashire Hot Pot with Bakewell Tart for pudding? Delia's awesome Sausage Rolls? Veg=sprouts.

How perfectly in keeping with the article! (Sorry, couldn't help myself.) Yeah, Tim is a wise Food Dude with a spectacular bullsh*t detector.

I'm a huge fan of Tim Hayward, eGullet member and Daily Gullet contributor. I've bookmarked his blog and check in every few days. Today he made me snort ginger ale out my schnozz. There's some Bad Science going round , specifically about why the smell of rotten eggs makes men ,um, randy. Enjoy. And gentlemen: Have you ever felt amorous after cleaning out the egg shelf? Read it here.

Maybe you'll get an honorary knighthood, as Edward Kennedy did today. So, are you looking to history and lit for recipe ideas? "There's rue for you" kinda thing? Or is it Rule Britannia?

A buddy of mine is in Vienna, and has fallen in love with the cuisine. He asked me if I knew of any good Austrian cookbooks. I've no clue, but I'm sure peeps here do. (And he can read German.)

David: Your pink slip is Spokane's loss, but this great piece is our gain. (I'll never look at a crab again without itching to reach for a spray bottle.)

That's a very excellent point, and perhaps the reason recipes for soft boiled eggs often suck eggs, or why my timing may not jive with yours.

Thanks for your kind words -- they'll propel me through this crappy chunk of February Block. Doddie -- you brought back some memories. My college flat was short on equipment, so what did I use for eggcups? Shot glasses! (Every student apartment has a few of those on the shelf.) KA: I hang my head. I have no idea what temp my fridge is set to;indeed I can't find the thermostat! 34-35 sounds around right. My eggs are typically Large.

I'll t to remember to upload a pic of my eggcups tomorrow. (Lovely handle, violetfox.)

This topic got a nice mention from Kellee Miller on the Martha Stewart Living web site.

I'm with Chris. I was baffled and annoyed by the ad. (Although I'm fine with a chef cashing in on his fame, though Batali's NASCAR lettuce made me roll my eyes, I remember the pasting Rick Bayless took when he developed a chicken sandwich for Burger King. And the man had given his fee away to charity!)

That's 161, 325.

Actually, I graduated to push pins recently, but the cork solution I hadn't thought of. That is a Good Thing, Susan!

Judy, why wouldn't one want to think of Marvell? But his almost- contemporary Robert Herrick, wrote one of the greatest and shortest poems about eggs (and, um, sex.) In its entirety: Fain would I kiss Julia's leg As white and hairless as an egg.

I can't think of higher praise! And man, "Crying, Waiting, Hoping" is poetically and functionally perfect! I have a turntable but no round plastic thingie to accommodate a 45. Sparrowgrass: Your eggs are the best I've ever eaten. Visit family in W'Ville in an egg-packed van and I'll buy all of them. For real: I've eaten thousands of eggs, and sparrowgrass's are the ne plus ultra. Andie: How your friend would love a English sterling Victorian piece my parents own: A filigree basket, with handle, containing eight sterling eggcups. (And I may steal his pricking/topping idea.)

As we shop every day, this will be a challenge. Unlike so many of us I don't own a chest freezer crammed with animal protein. In fact, I don't own a can of tuna fish. But I'm game. Please tell me that wine is excluded from this dictat. This is not a good week to stop drinking.

Oh Anna -- how dreadful! (As one eGulleteer to another -- tell about the casserole.)

You've got that right. Goldfish are a dime bag of Wowie Maui and Cheezits are lumps of crack in a pipe. I hang my head in shame and admit to raiding the box of Cheezits in the desk drawer of an absent workmate. I felt cheap and, well thrilled. But Cheezits aren't as cute as Goldfish and no way close to being an adorable crouton floating on the soupy waves.