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.
David explains why he was awfully slow to warm up to slow cookers…and how he caved and became 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.
And all through the house, not a creature was stirring…but what about the abandoned grill out back? David investigates.
David tells the tale of the two drama-ridden dressings he grew up with at his family’s Portuguese Thanksgiving table.
David sheepishly explains his silence as he and The One frolic across the pond. (Hey, even bloggers need vacations…)
Know how in Britain each intersection has a helpful reminder painted on the pavement reminding befuddled Americans which way to look?
David and The One struggle with their luggage and each other as they try to comply with Virgin Atlantic’s carry-on baggage policy.
David blogs his way through Paris, embracing wining, dining, and a magically slenderizing manner of thinking that just may offset all the foie gras, fromage, and frites.
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