Gritsapalooza 2013

It’s been a little more than a month since we converged on the city of Charleston, South Carolina, for our very first LC gathering. By “we,” I mean a couple dozen devoted LC recipe testers, Beth Price, our director of recipe testing, and Renee Schettler Rossi, our editor-in-chief, and me. We’d dubbed the weekend Gritsapalooza, figuring it only fitting given the locale. (We’re actually thinking of ‘palooza-izing all of our future meetups. Boston: Chowdapalooza; New Orleans: Beignetapalooza; Kansas City: Barbecueapalooza. You get the idea.)

But I gotta be honest. In all the months we spent planning this par-tay in response to testers’ requests for some face time with Fatty Daddy, I had no inkling how it would go. I mean, it was tantamount to a big blind date. We were inviting strangers—people who knew one another only via the comments they’d shared on our recipes and via social media—to come hang with us for three days and asking them to play nicely. And that’s exactly what they did. Well, for the most part. Thanks to sufficient liquor flowing to lube the wheels of social interaction, things remained quite civil, despite a couple of teensy skirmishes. (You know who you are—and so do I. Fatty Daddy sees all, knows all. Don’t you forget it.) Read more »

The Walls Are Falling Down Around Me

Gloria Swanson

For a moment there, I felt like Gloria Swanson in that famous 1960 Life magazine photo (above), in which she stood grand and tall in her dotage amid the rubbled remains of the Roxy Theatre in New York City. (We’re talking the same theater that opened in 1927 featuring Swanson in the silent flick The Love of Sunya.) The reason for my almost mistaking myself for her doppelgänger? My Connecticut kitchen is about to be demolished—stripped bare to the dry wall—to make way for a sleek stainless-steel emporium brimming with KitchenAid appliances, custom wooden cabinets, Chroma countertops, and a bill so huge, I’ll likely have to cash in my IRA. Read more »

Fatty Daddy Cocktail

What do John D. Rockefeller, John F. Kennedy, Brigitte Bardot, and I have in common–besides enormous sex appeal and outsized egos? We all have something named after us: a building, an airport (et al), a ship, and (drumroll, please) a cocktail, respectively.

To kick off our very first LC get-together, held in Charleston, SC, and hence given the code name “Gritsapalooza,” hosts Clayton and Beth Price had a drink specially made for the occasion–and for me. They christened it the Fatty Daddy Cocktail. I was flattered and honored. After all, ever since my dreams of having my high school renamed David Leite High School for Extraordinarily Talented Children, Just Like Its Namesake never materialized, I thought I’d never be immortalized. Read more »

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