Hi There!  Did you know that you’ve found My Husband Hates Veggies at our OLD location?  Wouldn’t you just love to join us at our shiny and pretty NEW location?  All the kids are doing it!  Click here!

I had high baking aspirations this Holiday season….

There were to be all sorts of delectable goodies created in my Brooklyn kitchen.  Linzer Cookies stuffed with Nutella, a Chocolate and Fruit Tarte I found in my new subscription to Bon Appetit,  Shortbread Pretzel Twists, and, last but not least, our household’s favorite – Pecan Snowball Cookies.  Why buy gifts this Christmas?  Cookies (made with all organic ingredients, of course) would be wrapped in crinkly paper with shiny bows and bestowed upon the shining faces of friend and neighbor alike.

But, (and sorry to get all cliche and Rachael Ray-ish on you), I am a lousy baker.  I can never seem to remember to leave butter and eggs out to bring them to room temperature.  My measuring cups are for liquids.  I confuse tablespoons with teaspoons.  My baking powder is always past its expiration date.  I detest kneading and rolling.  Let’s face it, if you are coming to my house for a dinner party, you can’t go wrong by bringing dessert.

Still, I did manage to churn out one baked item this Christmas, and in my opinion, if you are only going to do one cookie, nobody is gonna complain if its Pecan Snowball Cookies.

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Hi There!  Did you know that you’ve found My Husband Hates Veggies at our OLD location?  Wouldn’t you just love to join us at our shiny and pretty NEW location?  All the kids are doing it!  Click here!

Yeah yeah yeah…its been a while.  We cool?  Cool.

For the moment, I am going to spare you all the stories of what kept me from you for so long, and get right to a far more important matter – the slow rekindling of my relationship with Jamie Oliver.

I have always been a bit swoony for Jamie.  His recipes far outnumber any other celebri-chefs’ on this blog, and his philosophy on food jives right with my own.  Add to that the adorable accent and his being, in my opinion, somewhat easy on the eyes, and he had earned rightful inclusion on my Husband-Approved list of “five celebrities I would be permitted to make out with if the opportunity should arise”.  That was until, however, he stood me up for Thanksgiving dinner.

Long story somewhat shortened, through a series of phone calls with various producers and the approval of my painstakingly created Turkey Day menu, there was, in 2008, a very real I-could-almost-taste-it possibility that Jamie Oliver was going to join me and my family for Thanksgiving dinner in my Brooklyn home.  As you can imagine, this sent the staff at My Husband Hates Veggies Headquarters into something of a tizzy – a tizzy which I fully blame for the lack of cheese in that year’s Pumpkin Cheesecake and the obscene amount of money spent on a certain smart-looking tablecloth.  Husband was also in an entirely different kind of tizzy, with the impending arrival of the virile young celebrity chef that he had consented to allow his wife to snog.  Shakira, apparently, had not answered his invitation.

The heartbreak when Jamie never showed would have been manageable had I been in a sound state of mind.  I was, instead, seven months pregnant at the time, and felt quite sure that Jamie’s snub of my dinner party was directly related to the then gargantuan size of my butt.  The marked hormonal avalanche that followed resulted in an abrupt halt in the preparation of Jamie recipes, and his immediate exclusion from my Celebrity Snog List.

It is only now, nearly a year later, that I find myself letting a little bit of Jamie back into my heart.  There is a shiny new Jamie cookbook to devour, after all, as well as his continued devotion to improving the quality of school lunches and call for a rise in standards in the meat and poultry industries.  Why, I even cooked one of his new recipes today.  Yes, it would seem that Mr. Oliver has wormed his way back into my life, albeit in a now entirely platonic way.  What can I say?  My taste buds are the only body part aching for Jamie at the moment.  Could it be because he left me in my hormonally-heightened child-bearing state?

You can’t argue with pregnancy hormones, folks.  That shit’s primal.

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Hi There!  Did you know that you’ve found My Husband Hates Veggies at our OLD location?  Wouldn’t you just love to join us at our shiny and pretty NEW location?  All the kids are doing it!  Click here!

I didn’t realize this until recently, but it seems, that just a few short months ago, I was living quite the luxurious life.  A life filled with such extravagances as shaving my legs and washing my hair on the same day.  Using the restroom at my leisure.  Watching a full hour of Gossip Girl or History Channel’s Lost Superpowers of the Bible (don’t ask) without pausing for a certain somebody’s poopie diaper.  And oh, the cooking I used to do!  There were scones and risottos and things that actually need to be watched while you cook them.  Nowadays, my DVR seems to fill up faster than I can watch it, and cooking has been reduced to preparing a box of Stouffer’s frozen lasagna, much to Husband’s pleasure.  Sadly, sneaking veggies into his meals moved way down on the priority list, somewhere between daily application of mascara and, well, blogging…

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