tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15410643514230721672021-07-05T08:08:50.093-07:00My true life adventures. I live it up and live to write about it. Truth is funnier than fiction. And I do kiss and tell. EatGregEathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02365327690414982274noreply@blogger.comBlogger115125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1541064351423072167.post-5939677938418640682017-07-07T09:37:00.000-07:002017-07-08T06:48:02.060-07:00

I turn into my grandmother when I tie one on. An apron. I hear her guide my hand over the salt, Not too much, she says. As I stir, I check my arm to see if it has her adorable wiggle waggle yet. In an effort to delay that jiggle, I work out and eat healthy. I cook as much as I can, using natural products unencumbered by additives. I lived through the eighties so there are enough chemicals

EatGregEathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02365327690414982274noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1541064351423072167.post-14169000715938917132017-06-05T08:00:00.000-07:002017-06-05T17:29:42.507-07:00

I am one of the few, the proud, the Marines -- and the published! My memoir, The Pink Marine, loaded with U.S. Marine Corps boot camp stories, is out and available to buy. I appreciate your support. What the hell was I thinking, enlisting in the most elite branch of the U.S. military?! First, I'm gay. Although we do love the best of everything.... Second, you'll understand once you've

EatGregEathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02365327690414982274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1541064351423072167.post-12610252238339147102017-04-17T07:59:00.000-07:002017-04-17T07:13:37.571-07:00

We're all looking for happiness. I have a recipe for it.  Chilled avocado, cucumber, wasabi and yogurt soup.  The first cold soup happened in Tulsa, where a benevolent hostess overlooked a hillbilly guest's drinking of the finger bowl. Soon after, hot potato purée was turned into fashionably refreshing cold vichyssiose and began flowing like champagne. Food fashion has advanced. Gone are

EatGregEathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02365327690414982274noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1541064351423072167.post-90906672546244563882017-02-13T07:28:00.000-08:002017-02-13T16:18:38.242-08:00

I rode on a float in a Mardi Gras parade in New Orleans. Lots of my firsts happened in New Orleans. I took a streetcar to school, met my lifelong best friend, joined the Marine Corps. I ate my first oyster in the Big Easy. I was thirteen. My family moved there from Texas -- where the most exotic slimy thing I’d ever swallowed was okra. The waiter carried the tray of oysters as if they

EatGregEathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02365327690414982274noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1541064351423072167.post-59643542598949479872017-02-03T07:11:00.000-08:002017-02-06T14:27:08.953-08:00

Are you ready for some football... food? Fall is here and our bikinis are packed away It's safe to eat again. Brie and Grape Quesadillas. A fruit and cheese platter is a good party food; but game-distracted guests can fumble the elements. They maul your cheese and drop grapes that roll under the couch. This recipe is an inventive way that seals the meal and has them eating out of the palm of

EatGregEathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02365327690414982274noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1541064351423072167.post-38510132834357570242016-09-27T07:47:00.000-07:002016-10-11T07:20:36.193-07:00

I run at 100 miles per hour. One day it comes to a halt. My phone rings—which always freaks me out. I think my phone is only a camera or a way to demand a car. I look at the screen and the name seems kinda familiar… Ah! It’s my literary agent.  I believe I speak for all writers when I say that when your agent calls—wait, that never happens, so never mind…. I answer as if a Scooby Doo

EatGregEathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02365327690414982274noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1541064351423072167.post-78241543539685459062016-07-28T07:51:00.002-07:002016-10-04T09:08:50.792-07:00

America is going through LGBT civil rights boot camp, and it’s making our society stronger. Change, like recruit training, is hard. The results are worth it. Recently joining our ranks in the march to equality: SCOTUS, the Boy Scouts, the Pentagon and Caitlyn Jenner. When I was a kid I marveled at Jenner as she competed on TV in the Olympic decathlon, I had no idea she suffered from body

EatGregEathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02365327690414982274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1541064351423072167.post-59059551583427798342016-04-27T13:09:00.004-07:002016-04-27T13:09:37.277-07:00

I just turned down a farm-to-table tour of Mississippi. As a food writer, they invited me to tour their farm--to-table movement. They are very proud of where they stand and offered to fly me in to witness their production. One of the most important moments in my book, The Pink Marine, involves Mississippi. Marines’ primary mission is to defend our country. The U.S. government didn’t care

EatGregEathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02365327690414982274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1541064351423072167.post-22427066012187182422016-01-17T08:06:00.002-08:002017-03-10T08:39:04.195-08:00

So You Wanna Be a Princess? On paper, being a Princess looks appealing. Almost fairytale-ish. But turn the page, lift the crown, look closer and you might stay in school. First, you get one dress. ONE fucking yellow dress with a sash. And you have to wear that one dress in every scene until the very end, when you get married.  You imagine princesses with one of those closets like a dry cleaner

EatGregEathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02365327690414982274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1541064351423072167.post-38789950620466775032015-12-24T09:07:00.003-08:002015-12-24T09:07:58.472-08:00

No one told me that the Dead Sea sparkles. And I almost didn't see it. Wanderlust struck me, so I spun the globe and threw a dart at a dream destination. Istanbul was rioting and Prague was flooded, so I headed to a more peaceful place, Israel. As I planned the trip from home in the U.S., I let news and friends persuade me to limit my sight-seeing to Jerusalem only, under the theoretical

EatGregEathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02365327690414982274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1541064351423072167.post-52343146779671550192015-12-08T05:26:00.004-08:002016-10-11T07:21:12.840-07:00

When it was time to bring my book of Marine Corps boot camp stories to market, I went into U.S. Marine mission-mode and sought out the best expert. I looked to publishing guru Jane Friedman. Of course I was star-struck talking to Jane, but she made me comfortable and confident about my book's future. Once my book,The Pink Marine, was finished, Jane asked me to write a guest post on her blog

EatGregEathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02365327690414982274noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1541064351423072167.post-60441170109775028672015-11-21T07:37:00.001-08:002015-11-21T07:38:01.144-08:00

Last night there was a knock on my door. As first, it startled me. I guess I’m as jumpy as everyone else right now. But it’s my own door; of course I’m answering. When I feel fearful, I remind myself that I was a Sgt. in the U.S. Marine Corps. Plus I live in a secured building. I raked my fingers through my second-day hair, checked my t-shirt for cake crumbs, leaned my eye against the

EatGregEathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02365327690414982274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1541064351423072167.post-68764184182373965262015-11-13T10:07:00.004-08:002016-10-11T07:20:11.257-07:00

Greg Cope White, author of The Pink Marine, recently sat down for an interview with legendary journalist Barbara Winfrey* to talk about his new book of Marine Corps boot camp stories. As Greg joined Barbara on the sofa he offered her a plate of his stunning, made-for-this-interview curried chicken salad. Once Greg was sure his hair looked great on camera, he motioned for the television

EatGregEathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02365327690414982274noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1541064351423072167.post-57130323680364758252015-08-23T13:54:00.000-07:002016-10-11T07:21:45.655-07:00

My grandfather grew okra for me. He tended the bushes carefully, harvesting and freezing it so he'd have some when I came to Texas to visit. I'd walk out to the back porch, move the cases of Coke bottles off the deep freeze onto the painted cement floor. Lifting open the freezer, I'd marvel at the bags of frozen okra closed with a twist tie. I'd realize I didn't go home enough. I live in

EatGregEathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02365327690414982274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1541064351423072167.post-57975476469987976462015-07-26T07:24:00.000-07:002016-10-11T07:22:03.611-07:00

I got turned down for a job for not having enough Twitter followers. When did invisible social media become the indivisible job deciderer? I thought a resume, experience and references made me an attractive candidate. I had no idea that my popularity in the ethosphere impacted how well I might perform for an employer in the real world. I was laid off in 2013, from a job I loved. I

EatGregEathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02365327690414982274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1541064351423072167.post-42705368727143803022015-07-11T18:00:00.000-07:002015-11-01T09:52:59.200-08:00

It's my birthday. How old am I? Well....my great-grandmother won her husband in a jumping contest. It was about 1870, she was 15, maybe not ready to wed; but the civil war had wiped out most of the eligible men in her Missouri town. So competition was stiff. She however, had to be flexible and literally rise to the occasion. And rise above every other hopeful. I’m lucky that I knew her;

EatGregEathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02365327690414982274noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1541064351423072167.post-36597826123065715402015-03-15T10:24:00.000-07:002016-10-11T07:22:56.831-07:00

Eat breakfast like a king, lunch like a prince and dinner like a pauper, advised nutritionist Adelle Davis. I ascribe to any theory that supports my illusion of grandeur. So I had a royal lunch at Asiate in the palatial Mandarin Oriental in New York City with Mary Ann Williamson. She puts the amorous in glamorous. We rise in the elevator as if in a champagne bottle. We pop out onto the

EatGregEathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02365327690414982274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1541064351423072167.post-11304674526169243872015-02-16T16:24:00.000-08:002015-10-28T12:46:27.585-07:00

Hit New Orleans any time and you're greeted with delicious, deeply developed flavors found no where else. Treat the city like a bowl of spicy gumbo. Tear off a chunk of French bread. Dredge it along the bottom of the bowl. Soak up every bit. Experience New Orleans at Mardi Gras and you'll feast on the world's wildest street party. Around every corner you'll find a gasp. Some naughty,

EatGregEathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02365327690414982274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1541064351423072167.post-37915272496293831562015-01-21T12:13:00.000-08:002016-10-11T07:23:29.630-07:00

I love hearing anyone's personal stories about their connection to food. Although I'm not a vegan, I played with some on TV. I traveled around the world interviewing over 100 of those nuts for a project. After listening to them, I was never in the mood for meat. The rest of the crew and I always ate vegan. My main beef with most vegan restaurants is the lack of flavor. However; Gracias

EatGregEathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02365327690414982274noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1541064351423072167.post-23885854366303700662014-12-28T05:28:00.000-08:002017-01-08T09:07:32.504-08:00

I ate roadkill one Christmas. I love going home for the holidays. When I walk in my parent's house, familiar smells from the stove reach out to hug me before my mother can. She rushes over, fluttering her long red fingernails as if piping me aboard. She wears felt Minnie Mouse antlers, candy cane socks and a sweater vest with sequined snowmen. I spy dangling ornament earrings. She's smart.

EatGregEathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02365327690414982274noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1541064351423072167.post-43181951642576247892014-11-02T07:11:00.003-08:002015-11-15T08:08:12.409-08:00

I open an email from a great friend, David Youse. He needs three million dollars to open a play on Broadway. I wish I had the money -- he's a proven producer. As I drive along Pacific Coast Highway in Malibu, I pass Johnny Carson's former compound.  I think, WWJD (What Would Johnny Do)? He'd have David on his show. The exposure would send the money flowing in, very much like the ocean waves

EatGregEathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02365327690414982274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1541064351423072167.post-77149820127318291412014-10-11T06:58:00.002-07:002016-10-11T07:30:17.159-07:00

I created the hamburger. Ok, I created my Lone Star Poblano Burger for Chili's and competed with it on the television show On The Menu. Chili's Head Chef Stephen Bulgarelli puts the cool in culinary. He asked us to conceptualize a burger with spicy, smoky, Southwestern flavors. Mine delivers that, but it didn't win. Best thing about coming in 2nd? I won the right to share my recipe with

EatGregEathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02365327690414982274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1541064351423072167.post-53939846104961228802014-10-04T09:53:00.001-07:002015-10-28T14:43:47.764-07:00

I loved watching my grandmother cook. She influenced me. I still see her in my mind. After dinner, she watched me put on shows in her Lubbock backyard; but she never saw me cook. I imagine if she saw me cooking on television, she'd drop her jaw and her cocktail. I get a call from a producer. It's a Hollywood movie moment. One of those life-changing events that swirl about all real and

EatGregEathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02365327690414982274noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1541064351423072167.post-3920512243952936982014-09-18T15:11:00.001-07:002015-10-28T19:06:16.308-07:00

Cooking on TV can help sell my book. Getting on TV is hard. But I believe in myself. And in chances. I get an opportunity to step toward my goals -- I take it. I got on TNT's new reality cooking competition series, On The Menu. I just wrote The Pink Marine, a memoir about my time in Marine Corps boot camp. Writing a book is hard. As difficult as completing recruit training. I thought

EatGregEathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02365327690414982274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1541064351423072167.post-3738530093601101212014-09-06T09:29:00.000-07:002016-10-11T07:24:11.443-07:00

It's a hot day in 1931. My dandy grandfather drives his Ford down a dirt road near Linden, Texas. A young girl in a cotton dress walks barefoot. He yanks the brake. The girl turns. Her blue eyes clear the swirling dust. She's stunning. Over eight decades, my grandmother's beauty continues to develop. It's legendary. I call her Nanny. Still do, as she's always with me. The Fairmont Hotel in

EatGregEathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02365327690414982274noreply@blogger.com1