Oy. I’m super bummed and sorta thrilled to be going back to my homestead in Brooklyn today. I’m bummed because I’ll miss my family, and my aunt’s big backyard; thrilled because I can hit up my gym and not spend limitless hours debating how many calories I think strawberry pretzel salad has, and whether or not it’s a good use of my daily total. By the way, it was totally a good use of my calories. Sometimes, a white trash dessert involving jello, pretzels, and cool whip IS good.
I’m also bummed that I won’t be able to go to a book signing today at Posman Books at Grand Central Terminal. Shiloh Walker is signing her books there, and I’ll be in the car. So.much.suck. Maybe I’ll just make life sized cardboard cutouts of all of my favorite authors and characters and have them for tea. Mostly to scare the hell out of people. I think I’ll do it in Central Park; on the writer’s walk, of course. I’ll wear a tiny top hat. You can bring the cucumber sandwiches.
It has been the seventh level of Hell since I got here. I am not one who looks good wilted. In fact, I resemble most senior prom pictures of 1989, after the after party, after they almost puked in their own hair and nearly lost their V-card to some asshat football player behind the row of cars in the Sonic parking lot. The sad part is that NYC is going to be 97F when I get home, and the cement makes it feel like 613F with a side of steam. Home Sweet Home.
Who wants to go for a run? We may have to run naked. We may also need those fans that blow mist. It looks like we’re going to have to run nekkid through Cedar Point. I wonder if I can get on the millenium force nekkid. What in the world would that do to my poor boobs? shudder.
It’s a damn good thing I have the perfect thing to cool your hot arses off.
In India, people eat super spicy food even when the mercury is hotter than I know how to read. The idea is that the food makes you sweat, and that sweat cools you off. I like this theory; mostly because I like spicy food and will generally use any excuse to eat it; or in this case, drink it.
If you’ve never had a michelada, you’re missing out. It’s like the bloody mary of beer. It’s spicy, sour, and a bit sweet all at once. It hits that “umami” taste zone that makes so many chefs turn colors with food lust. It’s seriously delicious.
The recipe is so simple. One beer. 2 dashes worcestershire sauce, 1 tbsp chopped pickled jalapenos, two lime wheels, and a salt rim.