This morning in “what the HELL???” Mountain Dew has a breakfast drink. No really. I’m not kidding. The beverage company that rotted my hillbilly relatives’ teeth and I think might actually double as radium in nuclear bombs is taking over the most important meal of the day.

Why. Just, why? Do they want people to use it to chase their bacon, egg, and cheese on a jelly donut breakfast sandwich? Will it be on-tap at Carl’s Jr? You just KNOW someone asscandle is going to add Everclear to it, because…obviously. You can’t just be stupid, you have to be suicidally stupid.

I’m all for moderation and whatnot, this is actually a cookie post, but I don’t think my version of moderation will ever include toxic waste breakfast bevvies. Unless we’re talking a really spicy bloody mary…then it’s practically good for you! I mean, tomato juice, hot sauce, celery….there’s vodka too, but that’s good for your blood or something. I’m Slovak, I think it’s actually an essential component in my blood. Like heme, or t-cells, or sarcasm.

What the heck is wrong with black coffee? I’m fairly certain people have been drinking it far longer than the dew of the mountain, and with fewer negative effects. It may yellow your teeth and make you talk really fast, but you’ll still have teeth, and you won’t whistle when you talk. Also? Coffee smells good and cannot fuel military aircraft or glow under black light. (pure conjecture, but I can’t be far off in my assumptions. Not unlike my assumption that Ryan Seacrest is bringing about armageddon)

Coffee, you scamps. Drink it.

Also? dunk these cookies in it.

S’more cookies..with the marshmallows baked right in. I know. I know. I’ve just blown your mind. Ok, that may be a bit over-stating it, but I am making you have inappropriate thoughts about childhood campfires and that one hot guy at camp whom you just wanted to notice you but it turns out he’s gay and he only notices you because you both know the entire Sondheim catalog….

Breakfast to Bed

Yesterday was Mother’s Day, the day where we’re all supposed to feel like queens or some such nonsense. It was lovely, there was pizza, but today is most certainly back to business as usual.

You see, the Peanut loathes having any sort of even slightly, not noticeable to anyone but herself, soiled diaper. If she feels herself become damp or dirty, she immediately divests herself of her clothing and diaper, handing her diaper to whomever is lucky enough to be passing by. However, she is fairly insouciant about actually potty-training. It is damnably annoying.

It’s like I’m living in an effing Chekov story with all of the excrement and lack of personal responsibility. Granted, she’s just two and probably not a drunk Russian communist, but the comparison is there. Although, since she is frequently seen with very low pants and a great deal what of she thinks passes as swagger, perhaps she’s a bit more like Justin Bieber.

I swear, if she grows up to like him, I’m giving her every antibiotic known to man to rid her of the Bieber fever. Is there a vaccine I can give her now? Is that vaccine composed of his blood and the ashes of posters featuring much less douchey artists? Do you get it with the HPV vax? Tetanus? Does the adverse reactions warning label include “may fall into pathetic white-boy rapping and pseudo thug-meets Lindsay Lohan type behavior?”

Then again, I was head-over-heels in love with the New Kids. I had exceedingly poor taste as a second grader. I mean, Jordan Knight, the love of my life from 1991-1993 had a rat-tail and only sung in falsetto. Even Prince sings in a natural range from time-to-time. He sang as though his man bits never descended all.the.time.

The Peanut will have better judgment, I think. Mostly because she likes my cooking, so she can’t be dumb, amirite?

Today’s recipe is a winner.  I wanted a “breakfast cookie” that was gluten-free, refined-sugar free, and was absolutely free of the taste of Jordan Knight’s undescended manhood.

It took some tweaking, but damn are these good.

Gluten-Free Breakfast Cookies

Breakfast to Bed

Happy Mother’s Day! I took the Sunday Sweet photos today, so needless to say, my holiday is getting off to a raucous start!

You know, after all of the in-bed loitering and stuff I did this morning. I know you all are wondering if there was shirtless coffee. There was.

There was also a lot of a small fry making the exact right iphone movie selfie to show me. That boy is awesome.

As soon as I write this post, we are headed to the beach for some Mother’s Day sandy shenanigans, and quite possibly a beach nap for yours truly.

This recipe is dead simple. It’s also ridiculously delicious, and it just goes to show you that the size of your cocktail glass is NOT a serving size. The cocktail in the photo is the WHOLE recipe and it serves 2. Yeah. that.

S’moretini

Breakfast to Bed

Last night I had really good intentions to get a bunch of work done, perhaps get a pedicure, maybe figure out a way to deport Dennis Rodman to N Korea permanently.  You know, your basic Thursday night. I should have tested recipes last. Here’s the thing, when you are testing recipes, you typically make several incarnations of each recipe before you take pictures and blog it. With me so far? Well, last night I was testing a new cocktail recipe for the blog. Let’s just say that not much work was accomplished after that.

However, the Sunday Sweet for this week is going to be pretty amazing. It will also catch up to you about .5 minutes after you consume it. Therein lies the problem with the really smooth drink, you’re never ready for the hit.

So it seems as though Sunday is Mother’s Day! Lucky for me, I happen to be one.

Every year I get countless emails from companies asking if I would promote their product on my blog as a great Mother’s Day gift. Every year I say no. This year is no different. To be honest, yes, I would really like an ice cream maker, but really, I don’t want a home appliance for Mother’s Day. Not this year.

This is what I really want for Mother’s Day

–I don’t want to cook…that is of course I want to cook, then it’s a mood thing, and you can’t scratch your head about it because, well, I write a food blog, damnit. It’s not rocket science to figure out I may actually enjoy cooking.

–shirtless coffee. Lots of it. Or at least lots of coffee. I really like coffee. Yesterday, I was talking to  department head at a college, and she scuttled off one of her interns to get water, and I think I may have given her a strange look. A look that said, “water, really? We’re academics. We drink coffee, and when we aren’t drinking coffee, we’re drinking tea to be pretentious, or booze because we no longer wish to grade any papers or pretend to care about Proust.”

–lots of time with the little people who made me a mom. Perhaps at a park, with a sushi picnic. I do NOT want to go to brunch on Mother’s Day. I would hate life. I HAAAAATE all those crowds. Do the man and I love Peels on the Bowery or Seersucker or Buttermilk Channel in Bk? Yes. Will I go to any of these places on Mother’s Day? Hell to the no.

–a nap and time with a book, or seven.

But if you really must get me material things, here’s my list:

Books…lots of em. I want to be able to fall headlong into them, live in their pages, experience their experiences and not come up for air.

Fancy Coffee. Since I’ve been taking my coffee black, I am learning to appreciate the different tastes of each bean. I’m loving a shade grown organic nicaraguan from a local coffee roaster. (serve it shirtless….notice the theme?)

Michael Fassbender, on a platter (that fits on my bed), naked. “X-Men” MB, not “Prometheus” MB. He was too creepy in that. That would be like loving Ewan McGregor, but only Ewan McGregor from “Trainspotting”. Just wrong. I want my MB as a hot, and slightly evil mutant.

Pizza for dinner. I know, I know. Pathetic. Until you realize just how much I effing love pizza. Ok, I’d also be totally ok with a banh mi. Or one of those Vietnamese noodle and lettuce with tofu salads. I also think Michael Fassbender could count as a meal.

Beer. (also could be served shirtless)

A roomba. Seriously. I don’t consider this a home appliance as much as entertainment. I could attach battle flags to it, perhaps an inflatable doll…the possibilities are endless.

A super fancy yoga mat. One of those that is extra spongy, and pretty much does yoga for you.

new running shoes. yeah. I’m sad.

Breakfast to Bed

It’s 11:15 pm as I write this post. Why am I writing a post at night instead of in the morning? The Peanut has decided that tonight is a great night for a toddler dance party and cereal eating contest. I’ve decided that Heineken was developed for just such an occasion.

WHY IS SHE STILL AWAKE? This is the babe that is predictably asleep by 8:15 pm every night. Alas, she is ridiculously cuddly and silly, and currently sitting beside me, pretending to type. This is why children are so cute, because if they weren’t, you’d totally make them pull their weight. I can think of at least 4 baby modeling agencies I could totally sell her out to.

Half-Asian Honey Boo Boo who won’t eat pasta? WHERE’S HER CROWN?!!???

I could totally sit in a confessional spewing shit about how my daughter’s attitude and her need for attention. It would certainly have nothing to do with my need for attention, would it? It’s not like I have a blog wherein I mostly talk about myself, is it?!?!

Need I remind you my people come from West Virginia? The land where deer hunting is a high school sport, and biscuits are a condiment. I had family that lived in an actual holler. That is not just something they made up for the movie “Coal Miner’s Daughter”, it’s an actual thing.

Before I spiral into more futility, I will let you go with a charming story about my MawMaw. About 10 years ago, we all attended a family reunion in the Virginia that is West, and on that trip, we stayed in these really posh cabins designed to lure tourists to mountainland. One day, we took my MawMaw to a cemetery to see the graves. Visit old friends? Who knows. We just went. All of us. My huge effing family, stalking a cemetery like some weird emo clan of northerners. So we’re walking around gazing at the stones, occasionally finding one with something awesome on it, like an alter of natty light cans, or bronzed pack of cigarettes.

Well, MawMaw remembered the friends who were buried at this particular place, and they’re  last name was “Dick”. All of a sudden, from across the chasm, my lovely MawMaw yells out “Well, where are the dicks?” My MawMaw birthed and raised several sarcastic assholes who then bred more of the same. Needless to say, the jokes were rich and plentiful, “Have you checked congress?” “Probably covered up” “you’re the one with all the kids, you tell us!”…but she just laughed and kept asking, “Where are the dicks?”

She never found the dicks, but she was, in fact, surrounded by many of her own making.

And now for something completely different.

Salsa. More specific, one of the most delicious salsas ever.

Black Bean and Mango Salsa

Breakfast to Bed