It’s been a while since I posted anything sweet. Just as well since I’m more of a salty person anyway and so is Chris these days. In fact, we recently slipped over the edge of all reason and recieved a huge box in the mail from Salt works full with Fleur De Sel de Camargue and Maldon Sea salt, shhh. Today as I was strolling through the market looking for grapes I noticed fresh figs in their place. Figs? What was I supposed to do with these I wondered aloud as suddenly one exceptionally precocious little specimin with a perfect green stem piped up and said “Bake me with sugar and serve me with ice cream lady!”. Then, to my horror, the whole container of them plunged off the display and to their desths into my basket. I looked around and quickly scampered off toward the ice cream aisle hoping to avoid further embarrassment and then sped home to fulfill my destiny.

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I’ve always thought if ever I’m stranded on a desert island I would totally survive. In fact, some of my favorite storylines and daydreams are based on this very scenario. When Sher tagged me for my five Things To Eat Before You Die from The Traveler’s Lunchbox, I realized my list was revolving around being marooned on an uninhabited island. Chris and I would be a perfect team too, I would feed and clothe us and he would shelter and protect. We’d be just FINE, really. If in the future you should happen to find yourself in this unfortunate of situations, this list is for you. The last two items are of course geared towards *after* you are rescued, fly back to the states for an obligitory press tour, then to Paris for a well deserved and lengthy holiday.

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…And he does NOT want to talk about it.

{tags weekend cat blogging babaganoosh}

Oops! You have accidentally slipped back in time 30 years and its 1976 again. The wierd thing is that your not 4 years old playing with your imaginary friends Stonk and Bonk, but your still 33 and the your husband will be home from work any minute and he’s hungry. You suspect it was dusting off the can of mandarin oranges that opened the portal to the 70’s, but then again you *were* simultaneously toasting almond slivers wilst listening to Earth, Wind, and Fire – I mean who does that? At any rate, clearly a Chinese chicken salad was in order and if not you, then who? WHO!

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Originally, I made this dish a few weeks ago but the photoshoot was just plain awful. I called the agency back and specifically requested a livelier muse this time around, but here I was again trying to turn tragic heroin chic into sunkissed and coquettish under an impossible deadline!

From a tasting perspective, Chris pronounced “This is the new basil chicken!” I think it might be too, the aroma alone from the jasmine rice, lemongrass, ginger, and basil filling the house is heavenly.

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The secret to scrunching ones nose up into a deleriously cute little bundle I think is working it into everyday activities. Previously, we’ve seen Babaganoosh’s signature lick-yawn while he casually throws in a SCRUNCH for good measure. Max just wants *everyone* to be aware that he too can punctuate his standard operating procedure with careless yet intentional scrunchups when necessary. Clever, clever little fluffball. Max has thrown down the gauntlet, Noosh, your up…

{tags weekend cat blogging max the hammer}

When I bought shortribs yesterday I had this vision in my head of cooking them chinese style. You know the ones, cooked in that sweet red sauce, but their not sticky at all? I’m thinking they must be marinated then baked and that Ming Tsai would have just the recipe for me. Not so. I searched a complex series of internet tubes but couldn’t find the recipe I needed. By the time I started cooking I was confused and my counter was so full of potential ingredients I just went for it without a recipe. This is where it gets a little wierd:

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As advanced as Noosh’s car riding skills are, Max has really raised the bar in the sleeping department. He’s forever breaking new ground discovering the most desirable locations to hone his craft. And by that I mean endurance *and* form. Recently, he’s taken his leg extensions and belly exposure to a whole new level. It’s highly irresistable and disarming to mankind and I hope the government never gets ahold of him because he’s lethal. The cutest part is that he’s always stumbling around half asleep with his occasional pathetic silent miaows until plopping down for his next training session.

{tags weekend cat blogging max the hammer}

When awoke this morning, the last place I thought I’d find myself was in a dentist’s chair. But there I was cloaked in lead with my ankles strung up in stirrups, talking to a strange little asian man wearing GIANT safety goggles. Just seeing if you guys were paying attention, ha ha ha!

Pretty much since my alarm failed to peep this morning, and I discovered a terrifying spider in the bathtub, then went ahead and flossed my tooth into oblivion – I’ve been getting pulled deeper and deeper into a perilous vortex. How is it even possible to break a tooth with dental floss? Thats like getting a flat tire on a chicken bone, then again I know first hand how THAT can totally happen. In fact, it’s entirely possible that I cracked my tooth with my MIND this morning because I’m just SO UPTIGHT. (more…)

Babaganoosh has bit of a situation once a year when his fur becomes tangled beyond all reason. There is seriously no reasoning with it, I’ve tried. He gets grumpy and raises his pink padded little paw at me, my own cat, if he catches me lurking around with anything resembling a brush. Then I get grumpy. From there, it’s a total downward spiral of ankle swatting, staring contests, and cabinet slamming. When these circumstances arise, they mandate conflict resolution via the one and only dreaded yet beloved feline stylist Frank Brocolli himself. You heard me, Frank BROCOLLI. Who incidentally has the wierdest glitteriest most barbiest business cards I ever did gaze upon.

As always, the ride over in the car with Mr. Babaganoosh was quite nice. He has world class travel etiquette. He really does, everyone says so. The whole way, he just sits prim and proper refining his already exceptional purring skills. He complained a few times on the way, which is unusual since only miaows during severe emergencies*. But it went smooth because I got all these silly pictures. What a kook.

Frank Brocolli enthusiastically suggested the Full Number 4. Which, if you order now, you’ll get a free nail clipping and bubble bath! Apply directly to the forehead. Apply directly to the forehead. Apply directly to the forehead. What was THAT?! Wow.

Along with a pretty solid shavedown, the Number 4 also came with a cool set of wookie boots. You know, the ones everyone was wearing a few years back with miniskirts? It turns out that terrible human fashion trends translate adorably to kitties, VERY cute. The afro-puff tail is another story though. While amusing, it looks like a froo-froo antenna trying to ping his intergalactic comrades.

See, I told you he’s the perfect co-pilot.

*Like the horror of discovering a blinding glare at the bottom of his food dish.

{tags weekend cat blogging funny haha}