Category Archives: At Home

Chilling out with soups, and (soon to be) in Crete

We’ve been on a real good soup kick. I made a butternut squash soup the other night using this Thomas Keller recipe, which seemed pretty complicated so I just removed all the complicated bits–the bits that made it a Thomas Keller soup, essentially. Still, it was pretty good.

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The Sting (plus birthday parties, protein powder, and The Chase)

On Friday morning I was stung by a wasp and basically now I know the pain of childbirth.

I was home sick on account of a cold. The Beast was out on a bike ride. I went up to the deck to read. I put up the umbrella, and placed my hand directly on top of the fucker, and its stinger pierced that fleshy part of my palm, right between my thumb and index finger.

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A plea: stop telling me to show off my body

So we were upstairs folding laundry when the trouble started.

Foodie: What is that?

Beast: What?

Foodie: THAT SHIRT. It’s camouflage.

Beast: Oh that shirt. Listen, before you get mad, let me explain.

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Salad days: A guest post by the Beast ( and annotated by the Foodie)

If I ever write a fictionalized account of my time not working I’ve already got two potential titles: Domestic Economy (which I think speaks for itself) or I Wake Up Flexing. I’ve also got the title to the sequel. It’ll be called I’ll Stop Flexing When I’m Dead. The plots are a little vague, but they all involve a protagonist who is a stay-at-home dad without any kids and who wants to have a body builder’s body but even with all the free time in the world he can’t get into healthy eating.

They call it fiction for a reason, because this summer is all about healthy eating, Beast Style.

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On camouflage and orbs

“I need to tell you something and I’m going to do it in a public place so you can’t get really mad at me,” the Beast said on a recent night out for dinner at The Ace.

“You’ve joined a men’s rights group and you’re boycotting the new Wonder Woman movie?” I asked.

“No. I bought a camouflage jacket today from Thrift-Mart.”

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The Loon Hunters

We’d just been laughing about the Beast’oun deck shoes: how absurd it was that they were the only footwear he’d brought to the cottage. I’d warned him to be careful while walking in the woods, over rocks and along slippery leaves. We were headed downhill back to the canoe, tied up to a tree branch and resting in the lake. While I steadied myself, I saw the Beast with his arms in the air like he just didn’t care, sliding down the escarpment on his butt.

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To Die For: spring, spritz, and steak salad

In the sunroom, sipping on the first Aperol spritzes of spring.

Beast: How much money would it take for you to agree to murder someone?

Foodie: [Silence]

Beast: The thing is, you don’t have to murder them yourself, you just have to pick somebody. And you’ll never be caught.

Foodie: I don’t know. Like, a $150 million?

Beast: I’d charge $1,800.

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