recipes luck is green brownie/cookie hybrids: 1 cup butter (warm) 2 cup oil (whatever) 3 cup sugar (whatever) 2 cup cocao powder 3 tbsp milk 3 egg :: mix these till homogenous, then add 4.5 cup flour 1.5 tbsp baking poweder .75 tbsp salt homogenize. pour onto a fucking huge cookie tray, make it flat and even as possible.. bake @ 300 for approx 10 minutes. don't burn! makes... many. share ;) 010723 ... argo 1) buy cheap wine, push the cork in 2) drink it everyday after work 3) think about this cliche: 'it takes the edge off' It makes me feel like a man and I like it, despite being both female and straight. 010723 ... eatingstars fuck recipes. i add what i want and take complete blame for the results. 090313 ... bird estimated quantities intuition and experimentation intrinsic ideas of flavor born from years of adventurous eating 090313 ... unhinged my mother can't follow a recipe. when i added some dried spices to my risotto today i thought of her. culinary_epiphanies 090314 ... eatingstars i rescind my above "fuck recipes" 091018 ... tender_square one of her oldest friends gave her the box as a christmas gift one year, with blank index cards. it was a firm cardboard decorated with polka dots, strawberries and stripes. a soft piece of fuchsia ribbon served as a hinge to keep the lid propped. when she was single and had more patience, she would write recipes out in neat cursive on the cards. but the ink jet ran faster than her fingers, and she’d fold the 8x11 morsels of warm paper into quarters and stuff them inside the box, closing the lid. when she left her first husband, he snuck a handwritten note into the recipe box she took with her, and it said that he would always love her. she uncovered it a year after leaving him when cooking one day; it knocked the air out of her chest like she had stepped into a walk-in freezer. it was a violation, that he should suddenly appear in her new life, loyal and longing, when these were qualities she was assuredly not. for most of her adult life, the recipe box was the one thing she couldn’t keep organized. each meal that required direction, the comfort of steps and processes, meant she had to rifle through the contents and open the folds of each sheet to find what she was looking for. she knew she couldn’t leave her second husband without the map of meals they’d grown accustomed to making. not when they had cohabitated for the entirety of their years together. she couldn’t take away the routines while removing herself from the picture; she was responsible for his well-being, even from afar. she bought a thin black binder, and hole-punched plastic sleeve protectors. she emptied the contents of the box on her desk. she flattened each stained and creased sheet and made a pile of recipes they used, photocopying their likeness into a facsimile of ink while at work. she typed out the sloppy recipes she’d written in shorthand. he would have all their main dishes and sides. he would have all her desserts; she hoped he’d have another woman in his life to make them for special occasions, or just because. in time, she would be gone. but he would not go hungry. 220607 what's it to you? who go blather from