That's SO Nazi Chic!

While playing a game of FMK (Eff, Marry, Kill) during our Hurricane Irene party, my friend (let’s call him, JC) and let me preface by saying that he/we/our group of friends are not normal after a few drinks…or ever, really, came up with a tough one: Adolf Hitler, Saddam Hussein and Osama bin Laden.

Eye on the prize

 

 

That's AMORE!

One love.

 I will leave it up to the imagination of who I would HateEff and Kill (if you know me, I’m sure you can take a shot in the DARK), but I will say that I thought it was in my best interest to marry….(insert drum roll here)…. ADOLF HITLER!  “Why!” one might ask.  Allow me to break it down for you:

•     I have blonde hair
•     I have blue eyes
•   I am Catholic

 AKA I am basically the perfect human! He would have worshiped me and allowed me to live out my life dream as a housewife.  And let’s be honest, the mustache is kind of a turn-on and so multi-purposeful.  I also dig a man that wears neutral tones- so Nazi chic.  Sorry Saddam and Osama, but I don’t think traveling from cave to cave is the life for me, especially via walking stick. 

So followers, please enlighten me and tell me how you’d rank them and why!  Stay JC- Jerusalem Cool!

Fry me a river...

I went to Long Beach, NY on Sunday and stumbled upon a craft fair on the boardwalk.  Lucky for me this craft fair had a ton of food vendors, which included a truck dedicated solely to deep fried desserts. I went for the Twinkie (hey, I was on vacation. Yes, I consider Sunday a "vacation" PLUS I've never tasted one before).  All of you that have ever eaten any type of deep fried dessert know that enjoying just one will not suffice.  For those of you who have not enjoyed this semi-socially acceptable treat, allow me to break it down:

• Deep Fried Oreos (The Classic)- Not going to lie, don't love it (and I LOVE Oreos).  It's a little dry for my liking, but if you have it with ice cream, it's definitely better.

• Deep Fried Twinkie (The Perfect "Cum"panion)- When the man handed me this "thing," Carly, Mike and I all looked at each other thinking the same thing--"Solid Gerth!" Think cream puff mixed with a sponge cake.  Nice balance of textures and relatively easy to eat. Don't squeeze too hard though or you might get a load all over your face and/or lap.

•  Deep Fried Reese's Peanut Butter Cup (The Total Package)- One of the best things I've had the privilege of putting into my mouth (Sorry, boys).  The melted chocolate and peanut butter combo mixed with the crunchiness of the batter was TO DIE. 

•  Deep Fried Cookie Dough (The Unknown)-  I've never had this dessert before and if you know where to find it, please let me know.  By the looks, I can only imagine perfection.

I've been thinking of what I can ask for for Christmas this year and I think a deep- fryer might be the answer. Thank God I have a gym membership or I'd be crying myself a river all the way to the toilet...
 Any other recipes or recommendations are welcome!

Mexican to German to Italian... Cinco de Mayo 2011

I must thank my friend James for encouraging me to write this post--I've had a bit of writer's block lately.  So yesterday was Cinco de Mayo and it was only right to keep everything a Mexican theme.  You know the drill- margaritas, tequila, guac, etc, etc.  Shit got a little weird this year all due to this 100-calorie concoction they call the Skinnygirl Margarita.  Sure, it will make you a skinny girl because two 4oz glasses pretty much makes you incapacitated and unable to physically take another sip. I think I'll tweet to Bethenny Frankel that "Blackout Margarita" would have been a much more appropriate name.  In the true work hard, play hard fashion, my company thought it was a good idea to purchase an entire CASE to finish before 5pm.  MISSION ACCOMPLISHED.

At 5pm or so, 3 drunk blondes and 1 semi-drunk boss head to the Standard Biergarten for a blind date in which we were all fighting for the same male (well, not the semi-drunk boss).  Lucky for us, this male brought 5 friends making the boy band group complete.  We had the ginger, the Justin Bieber wannabe, the fratastic alpha-male, the funny one and the Patrick Dempsey look-a-like (he was my fave).  Once I realized that I was actually unable to form a sentence or physically put a piece of the giant pretzel into my mouth , I "went to the bathroom" aka peaced out and stumbled home listening to Julianne Hough on repeat (true story).  End scene.

5am Friday morning-  I wake up to a zillion text messages from the previous night and a receipt on my night table from none other than DOMINOS.  "FML," I think as I walk into my kitchen hoping it was an old receipt.  No such luck.  There it is...an empty pizza box.  I know it doesn't sound SO bad, but this happens pretty much every weekend (alternating between Dominos and a container of Oreos).  Yeah, no big deal.  But more than shoving a large, thin-crust pizza down the hatch, I was just so impressed that I was able to conquer three different cuisines all within a three hour time frame.  God bless NYC.

Notice my disposable contacts sitting in the pizza box...

PS- On Cinco de Mayo Eve, I saw Giselle at ABC Kitchen and she was eating. a lot.  Her hair is honestly amazing.

Self Control is for Lahhhooosssseerrrssss

As most of you know, I am a recovering Facebookaholic and deactivated my account for the time being.  The time being meaning when I can actually log in and have enough self control to NOT tell my 2,000 cyber friends every detail of my NOT so interesting life.  Like who gives a shit that I have "Din with the girls" or "Busy night of yoga, gym then blogging?"  Not you I'm sure; or if you do, it's a red flag that you are lacking in the hobby/friend department.  And speaking of red flag... if you do at least 2 of these things on Facebook, you should consider joining me on my path towards productivity.

With that being said, it's time for me to talk about some restaurants I've been to lately--nothing fancy so don't get too excited.  I had a friend come to town from Memphis for the weekend- we shall call her SFoley.  Not only was I excited to see SFoley because it's been over 4 months since she left NYC, BUT she always keeps me eating healthy (something I lack in day to day life).  Well this weekend was definitely the exception because I'm pretty sure NEITHER of us knew what self control even meant.  Allow me to elaborate.

Thursday night- guac and chips (corn tortilla for SFoley) and 15 strawberry margaritas (on the rocks, obvi) at Cowgirl in the West Village.  If you've never been, you really must go for the margs--AHH- mazing. Loaded with fresh fruit and mini plastic cowboys--they're pretty damn good.  Following, our Mexican fat fiesta, we headed to Wilfie & Nells (only for drinks, thank GOD).  It was obvious those drinks put SFoley and I over the edge because against all odds, we ended up at the Wavery Restaurant.  Late night omlettes were a must to fill our booZe-stricken tummies, but the chocolate chip pancakes, WHITE toast (FML), hash browns and home fries took this whole "drunk eating" thing to a whole new weight (no pun intended).  I'm pretty sure SFoley woke up on my hardwood floor in her clothes from the previous night surrounded by our takeout (actually I'm not "pretty sure;" I'm 100% sure).

Friday was a stupid dinner I found on Village Vines (basically a Gilt Groupe for restaurants) that was made for anorexic people, so I won't even discuss that.  Nothing fun happened, except watching Scream 2 with popcorn and m&m's.  Saturday at 1pm is when the fun began!  Il Bastardo boozy brunch.  That's all that needs to be said if you know anything about SFoley.  Two hours later, we were somewhat tipsy heading to the Ainsworth (bomb truffle french fries) for more booze.  Two hours after that, our truffled, intoxicated selves headed to Rosa Mexicana (Union Square location) for SFoley's FAVE frozen pomegranate margs.  Just when I thought it was time to call it a night (at 8pm), we got ourselves some Redbull (best shit ever) and decided it was time to outwardly show our love to Celine Dion- Boho Karaoke style (I don't want to embarrass any of the other participants, so I will only display one photo).  Let's just say it was a fun night since it ended with a repeat of Thursday night with another endless champagne brunch at 4:30am and Waverly Restaurant takeout.

While we're on the topic of self control, I decided to include this link from Buzzfeed for the 13 top Cadbury Creme egg recipes.  I think the Cadbury Creme Eggs Benedict hits home with me, since I'm pretty much obsessed with both food items.  I tried to make this dish with my Cadbury creme eggs from my Easter basket (thanks, Loretta) and made my Dad literally throw up in his mouth trying to replicate eggs from chocolate.  Gross or not...it was EGGcelent!

Let the Goo Out...

Cadbury. Creme. Egg.  Muffins.  Excuse me?  I can't even contain myself.  I am NOT a baker, but if you are and reading this, I will pay you to make them for me.  Baking Bites--Thank you.

Cadbury Creme Egg Muffins
2 cups all purpose flour
2 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp salt
3/4 cup sugar
2 large eggs
1/3 cup butter, melted and cooled
1 tsp vanilla extract
1/2 cup milk
12 mini Cadbury creme eggs (not full size)

1.  Preheat oven to 350F. Line a 12-cup muffin tin with paper liners.
2.  In a large mixing bowl, whisk together flour, baking powder and salt.
3.  In a small mixing bowl, whisk together sugar, eggs, melted butter and vanilla until smooth. Whisk in milk.
4.  Pour wet ingredients into dry ingredients and stir until just combined and no streaks of flour remain. Evenly distribute muffin batter into prepared pan. Place 1 mini Cadbury creme egg in the center of each muffin. You can use a small knife to pull a bit of batter over the top of the mufin, if you like.
5.  Bake for 14-16 minutes, until the top of the muffin springs back when lightly pressed and the edges are a light gold.
6.  Cool on a wire rack before slicing.
Makes 12.

Bored at work? Here ya go...

Monday afternoons are the worst, so I figured everyone could use a little pick-me-up.

I'm actually very impressed with this link. 

http://twitdoc.com/view.asp?id=6820&sid=59G&ext=DOCX&lcl=Dear-Blank-From-Blank.docx&usr=LisaVillano&doc=52597324&key=key-2lk3u1y9h419sef91bf4

This below video will seriously make you feel better about the following things:

1.  Your life

2.  You don't live in Chicago and/or any Chicago suburb

3.  You don't have red hair (sorry, Car and Kel)

http://boston.barstoolsports.com/random-thoughts/must-watch-drunk-cubs-chick-taking-you-into-the-weekend/

While reading my daily e-mail from The Observer's Very Short List, I came across the Pierley/Redford personality test.  It is based on 20 questions and really disturbing.  I felt like I was having a seizure, but the results were actually quite accurate for me.

http://cb.sailthru.com/35fp.39az/TaMDgYGxFi2FhyoWC614d

My Diagnosis:

Thoughtful to the extreme, you are often obsessed with perfection and the rules governing your own personal interests (YUP). Your world is black and white (let's not get ahead of ourselves...). You love to work within a logical system, such as language, computer programming, or mathematics (I work WITH engineers that do those things). Manipulating a system that can be completely understood is a distinct pleasure to you, because of your confidence in the underlying veracity of your belief system (lost me there). Because of your appreciation for logic and order, those who speak or think in a sloppy manner are apt to generate more than their share of wrath(wrath, indeed). Although very amiable, you are not drawn to friendships out of a sense of personal need (why else would I be friends with people?). You are just as happy by yourself with a good book or puzzle (love me some Sudoku). Because you are so involved with thought, you will on occasion have difficulty dealing with the day-to-day problems of a normal life (yes, I do have some problems functioning normally, i guess...)

If you do any of the below things, we are soulmates.

http://thoughtcatalog.com/2011/how-to-not-be-crazy/

Changing Directions...

I feel somewhat retarded writing this post right now considering I am already in a hungover food coma at 11am on Sunday morning feeling like a FF (fat fuck), chewing my Advil (can't swallow) in a purple (think Barney) sweat pant getup with eyeliner (Chanel) still on my face watching Lifetime (Bond of Silence).  I'm pretty sure I'm still drunk and most of what I am writing will not make sense, so I'm apologizing in advance. 

I decided at dinner last night that my blog will not revolve solely around food.  Although food is a LARGE (similar to my body right now) part of my life, no one wants to read about how good guacamole is at some Mexican restaurant in Soho- let's be honest.  Now allow me to recap this weekend's highlights:

1. Bier Haus in Midtown East is super fun for happy hour and has hot guys.  BAM.  Although I am 99.9% sure that these hot guys do NOT dig two blondes each shoving face with a liter of beer and a soft pretzel the size of our heads with bier cheese spread.  This also means they definitely do NOT dig two incoherent blondes continuing to shove face with potato pancakes and a bratwurst and pepper sandwich (the live German band just got us in the mood).  Just a guess, but hey, girls gotta eat.

2. Papatzul in Soho tried to kill 2 out of my 6 friends at dinner on Saturday night.  True story.  There was broken glass in Danee's margarita and Rosie had bad fish tacos. There were maybe two small pieces of fish with some type of cole slaw on top--interesting little combo. Maybe I'd skip this one...

glass or no glass, booze is booze

3. Direct quote from Rosie: "If I lost my arm, I'd be fucking pissed."  Umm....DUH.  Now the real questions is which arm would you prefer to lose?  If you're right-handed and that was chopped off, you'd pretty much be a waste of life; BUT if you lost your left arm, no one would be able to put a ring on it.  My priorities are steering me towards the right...

Something seems FISHY

4. The Soho Grand Hotel reminds me of the Clue board game.  I was waiting for Miss Scarlet to kill me with the candlestick in the study, but instead it was the waitress with the vodka and red bull. 

5. The west side of Manhattan does not sell Cadbury cream eggs. Simple fact. I mean it is EASTER, people. What is the problem? I just walked from my apartment in the West Village to the Lower East Side (while listening to Bette Midler's hit song "The Wind Beneath My Wings" for moral support)stopping at six different Duane Reades' searching for God's gift to the Catholic race. And where do I finally hit the jackpot? In a JEWISH deli! Really?  Hey, I'm not complaining- a Cadbury cream egg is a Cadbury cream egg. 

VICTORY!

6. This is what Carly did this weekend straight from gchat:

Carly:  i ate sushi fri night..woke up ate peanut butter pancakes (BANGIN) umm went to sugarhouse casino on a beautiful day and lost 25 geez 

Carly: and by geez i mean dollarszzz 

Carly: i tried to comment on your blog, but it wont let me

Carly: i think i have to become a follower

Carly: which i will

Carly: dont u worry

Carly: and then i put my two cents in

Where the "F" did you come up with the name, "Fuke?"

Let me start by saying that I have been thinking about the title of my "unborn" blog for quite sometime and it has not been an easy task.  At first, I wanted to find some sort of witty, play on words that involved food, but everything I came up with was way too cheesy (see, I just can't win).  Then I thought about a "cute/girly" title involving NYC, girls in their mid-twenties and once again, food.  Again, no luck-way too SATC (that's Sex and the City for those of you living under a rock).  My friend Steph suggested Meatloaf, Oreos and Beyond and although those are two of my favorite food items, I just needed something more me. Finally, I decided to go back to my roots and use my longtime nickname "Duke" to add a personal touch. After about two seconds, I combined "F" for Food (amongst other things) with "uke" for Duke and "Fuke" was born.  Now, here is when it gets interesting... 


I decided to Google my new "baby name" creation, and as luck would have it, an Urban Dictionary post practically jumped off my screen. Most of you reading this know that I am probably the most vulgar person ever, so Google is obviously doing a fantastic job finding the right matches for me. The second definition for "Fuke" is as follows:


"a fuke is a male orgasm that ends with such a huge explosion of sperm that it feels like a nuclear bomb has just blown up inside his partner's vagina/asshole."


Well, well, well...what a kawinkydink (sp?) because this JUST SO HAPPENS to be the EXACT same feeling my mouth experiences after I eat an AMAZING meal or dish.  And so it was fate...my blog would be named "Fuke."