When David decides to renovate the kitchen in Connecticut, he does so with his usual flair for the dramatic.
You’ve not “made it” until you’ve an eponymous cocktail all your own. Witness the Fatty Daddy, a sweetly surprising number that packs a punch, just like our own dear David.
David comes to understand that corned beef hash is far, far more than mere sustenance for The One.
Stop it. Please just stop it. Make it go away. Pretty please. [Editor’s Note: A rant by David about the recent deluge of white stuff.]
If we had to choose just one roast chicken to spend the rest of our lives with, this would be the one.
Forever? Completely? Sounds like words used only in conjunction with things that inspire lasting love. Like this cake.
Slow cookers and the comestible that came out of them weren’t David’s speed until he caved and tried a slow cooker chicken stock. Now he’s a convert.
As David reveals, it’s always darkest just before dawn. But then all manner of magic starts to transpire…
David divulges his fetish for puff porn, a habit that conveniently requires no confession with Father Fraga come Saturday afternoon.
Despite something of a Dickensian upbringing, The One recalls his happiest moments spent with his hero and her favorite utensil.
David wishes The One happy birthday with a gift of their love story, as told in 15 exquisitely decorated cookies.
Despite Jack Frost nipping at his nose (and other parts), David manages to capture some pics of a winter wonderland.
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