"TOOT TOOT!" -My Horn

Sure, I like my little baby blog, my mom likes it (but I think she's legally required to say she likes everything I do), and my friend Mary from Maryland seems to like it (thanks for the comments Mary!). But apparently, actual real blogging celebs like it too... swoon.

My new BFF the Food Network Addict said :
"Your blog looks fun. I checked out the chipotle fan link, and I'm not convinced. It just makes me want a burrito bol even more! ;-) "

Then, about two seconds later my new buddy the Amateur Gourmet said:
"Your site looks great--I love the design."

It's only a matter of time before we're sharing one Frozen Hot Chocolate with three straws gabbing about how awesome the food bloggespher is...

Thanks guys!

Check Out This Little Diddy

My awesome cousin Evan wrote this song for me as my early Christmas gift, isn't it incredible?! I love the Rach Ray shout out...

Look at Me, I’m Sandra Lee…

I know in the song from “Grease” it’s “Look at Me, I’m Sandra Dee” but I don’t care – it should have been Sandra Lee because she’s flippin’ awesome. Oh Sandy… I just finished her memoir, Made From Scratch and take my word for it, it is a MUST READ!!!

I laughed, I cried, I felt very confused and uncomfortable; all of my favorite emotions tied up in just 269 pages. Poor Sandy really has been through a lot – her pill-popping mom abandoned her then when she finally came back she beat her, she raised her siblings single-handedly, she lost all her money, her grammy died, she had to make that Kurtain Kraft Krap… then she had to travel the globe, become a “lifestyle expert,” star on a Food Network show, and become a New York Times bestselling author. Let me tell you pal, it was a real rollercoaster.

A few passages in particular I will always hold near and dear to my heart; I particularly loved when Sandypoo tried to offer an explanation for the booze-cruise that is Semi-Homemade; "The cocktail segment was never intended to become a regular part of the show. During my first week of filming, I decided to demonstrate one of my favorite cocktails, Jamaican Rum Punch. I made the drink many times before so I felt comfortable with free-pouring the liquor without measuring the amount I was using… I got caught up in keeping eye contact with the camera and forgot to monitor the amount of run I poured into the pitcher (page 215)."

Sure you did Sandy…

I also felt all toasty inside when Sandy would cite her most beloved passages at the beginning of each chapter. Best of which was her Survivor quotation; “I’m back on my feet, just a man and his will to survive... I’ve got the eye of the tiger (page 217).” If you don’t think that’s funny, check your pulse.

Seriously though, it is a wonderful book and it made me like Sandra even more than before. It made me sympathize with her rough childhood enough that I didn’t feel resentful when she finally found success completely by her own merit and determination, (which I think is the response she was going for).

Sadly, there is neither an explanation as to how the two soufflés on her chest miraculously rose, nor does she offer a reason for why her “parties” are never attended by anyone except maybe her niece and nephew – maybe I’m alone on this, but I find pre-teens and pitchers of booze to be a very maladroit situation. Can’t she at least hire fake friends to come over and see her elaborate tablescapes? I’m sure Michael Chiarello knows where to rent some…

Shut Yo Pi (Phi) Hole!

I love my new fabulous post-college life here in the Big Apple, (even though I have to now wake up early, actually work, not blow through money on drive-through daiquiris, etc), but there is one thing that I really, really miss about Tulane that I never saw coming…

Every Wednesday my sorority, Pi Phi, would order lunch for the entire chapter, and every Sunday we would all have dinner together after our meetings. I got very good at running to the house in between “classes,” (in between waking up at noon and going to the levee for some fun in the sun), for a quick lunch. I became an expert on sneaking in through the back door after the meeting, shoving some grub into Tupperware and surviving off of it for the next week. I never thought that I could pine for anything as much as a bear hug from John Besh or a Chipotle burrito, but those meals at Pi Phizzle come pretty close.

Queue the “food is about connecting with people, not just nourishment” speech now. I’ll spare you all that blah blah blah and just say that the mere anticipation of what would be served at these meals added some category 5 excitment to my day. Luckily for me, my roommate and best friend Ali was the House Manager, (also known as the "House-Wife Executive" who was in charge of getting the food on our plates), and luckily I was able to influence what restaurants she would order from.

Wraps from Roly Poly, ribs from Voo Doo BBQ, pizza from Reginelli's, Sushi from Mikimoto, pasta from Semolina... I miss you all, my darlings...

Long story short, this lame entry is dedicated to all the Pi Phi Angels of the world who paid their dues so that I could gorge bi-weekly and encourage the growth of my freshman/sophomore/junior/senior-15 pounds.

This one’s for you!

*Wanna read a neat blog about life post-college? Check out the Real World Freshman.

A Moment of Silence Please…

My cubicle neighbor Amanda just alerted me to a new website: Chipotle Fan. But do NOT let the name fool you my friend; no fan of Chipotle should ever visit this site!

There is a “Nutrition Info” section in which you can enter what kind of accoutrements you like in your Blessed Burrito and then it calculates how many calories are in it.

This is a sad, sad day my dear readers, a sad, sad day. This Shit-potle site has ruined my afternoon and quite possibly my life. Luckily, after a few tequila shots and Coronas (Corona Light of course) I will forget all about this dang site and can go back to living my sour-cream-covered life.

A Day Like This is RARE (get it?)

This has been such an exciting week for me; I am genuinely surprised that I haven’t peed my pants. First I eat the best meal of my life at Babbo and get a grand tour of the restaurant, then I eat at A Salt and Battery (of “Throwdown with Bobby Flay” fame), then I see Michael Symon the newest Iron Chef, then I talk to Duff Goldman the Ace of Cakes.

I will tell you about all the grub I’ve been shoving down my throat in a moment, but first let me address how awesome it is that I met, (ok I only saw Michael but whatever), both Chef Symon and Duffypoo. Slowly but surely the list of Food Network stars that I have “met” is getting longer than the list of stars I haven’t.

Let’s see… I ran into Ellie Krieger on the street once and chased her down the crosswalk to introduce myself and (unintentionally) really freak her out. Then I saw – and took a picture with – Colombe, the l-o-s-e-r from “The Next Food Network Star,” at Le Pain Quotidien. I accidentally burst into tears at the Fancy Food Show last year during a Dave Lieberman demonstration… sorry but I get emotional with my FN stars. I saw Marc Summers and Robert Irvine together and I directed them to a conference room – I had heart palpitations for weeks! I once saw the “Thirsty Traveler” Kevin Brauch, (aka that weird Canadian guy Alton makes fun of on “Iron Chef”), on my way to get the mail. I met Cat Cora’s sous chef – whatever still counts – at a bar in East Hampton. I saw Ina Garten, (in a luscious brown full-length fur coat) and that handsome devil Jeffery walking down Madison Ave when I was in tenth grade. And last but not least, my darling Alton Brown, who I see every night in my dreams but have seen in reality three times.

Now I can add Iron Chef Symon and my little Sugar Dumplin’ Duffy to the list! I heard Symon laughing – his awesome little cackle – and peeked into the office next door to confirm my suspicions… there was, indeed, an iron chef in the building! He was wearing jeans and a sassy little hoody with a dragon print on the back – and, FYI ladies, he is very handsome! (But married, sorry).

Less than an hour later I was in the kitchen getting a cup o’ joe when I saw Duffy “Shnoockums” Goldman. For once in my star-spotting career I played it cool and introduced myself without making that weird gasping-for-air-grunting sound. I told him that I’m getting one of his awesome cake creations and he got SO excited. Aww he is so cute I just wanted to pinch his little cheeks! He was really cool and asked me if the miraculous creation was for a groom’s cake (which now looking back I have decided to interpret as him trying to find out if I’m married, which I’m NOT, because he is in love with me). He then told me he had two daschunds! And he said it would be funny if he put the Brutus cake in a bun! And I said it would be funny! And then we laughed together and held hands and frolicked through a meadow. (Everything was true except that last part).

Anyway, we’re madly in love. But I simply don’t know how I’m going to tell my husband Alton, my boyfriend Jamie Deen, my lover Dave Liberman, and my soul mate John Besh that I now have a new suitor!

When a Contessa and a Dartmouth Boy Unite; an Ode to Ina and Jeffrey

Oh Ina, you’ve loved Jeffery since you were fifteen,
He is so much more handsome than James, (and Paula), Deen.

You like to make him fresh ice cream with vanilla bean,
You roast him chickens and cook other French cuisine.

Sometimes you two act a little obscene,
I don’t need to know that he is a love machine!

I wish he would dress in Alexander McQueen,
For my entertainment and to change the routine,
But alas, Jeffrey will only wear his blue jean.

Ina you must spend a fortune on dry clean,
Because you only wear that shirt of color marine.

Remember your trip to Paris, it was so serene,
You and Jeffery slept in a tent with a canteen.
Eating hericot verts, also known as green bean,
‘Cause in France you could not find any chow mein.

You love him enough to give him your spleen,
The love bug musta bit you, you need a vaccine!

When out in the Hamptons always wear sunscreen,
And be sure to dress up as a French maid for Halloween.

Once at the White House, Food Network was unforeseen,
But thank goodness you did it, my cooking queen!

I’ll watch you forever, don’t fret, your show will be seen,
Just please don’t ever jump on a trampoline.

Gobble Gobble

Alton, Giada, Ina, and MEEEEEEEE!!!

My name is now mingling with the stars in cyber world! My writing can be found on FoodNetwork.com - check it out!

Bird is the Word.

I Wanna Drink My Hurricanes, Not Be In ‘Em!

With Thanksgiving fast approaching it is time for us all to think about the many things we have to be thankful for; loving family, faithful friends, good health, loyal pets, heaven-sent Jamie Deen, and of course, the food on our plates. Sadly, not everyone can experience the gorge-fest that is Thanksgiving. My sister recently sent me this link and I ask everyone to please, please donate if you can. I wouldn’t solicit money from you, my dear reader, but this is for a really good cause, (OK fine, if I desperately need some change for Chipotle I might ask again, but I’ll try not to…)

Please visit BR Food Bank and donate a Thanksgiving turkey to families displaced by hurricane Katrina, that bitch. It is only $25 to give a family in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, (thousands of Katrina evacuees live there now), a turkey and something to be thankful for.

Please remember all of the victims of Katrina, that bitch, when you are loading up your plates with food and your hearts with thankfulness. Do it for me, do it for John Besh the Next Iron Chef (fingers crossed), hell, do it for Emeril.

Thanks Friends!

RR-iddle Me This:

Who killed JFK, Oprah’s daily weight fluctuation, what happens after death, the great pyramids of Giza, why sheep don’t shrink in the rain if wool sweaters do in the wash, Tori Spelling’s breasts, the Loch Ness Monster… and “30 Minuet Meals” – these are life’s greatest mysteries.

If anyone is capable of explaining the following to me, I, and the rest of man kind, will be forever indebted to you:

1. Why does Rachael Ray insist on only wearing VERY tight long-sleeved shirts, awkwardly tucked into high-waisted jeans?
2. How could her set have possibly gotten even oranger and more hideous in the past few months?
3. Similarly, who was capable of creating such a design? (Ray Charles?)
4. Why does RR’s hair goes from extra dirty blonde to black?
5. Why does RR say “EVOO, extra virgin olive oil” instead of just EVOO or extra virgin olive oil?
6. Why does RR’s faucet has the smallest stream of water known to man kind?
7. How is RR capable of mentioning “Godfellas” and their damn garlic slicing in every episode?
8. Why did RR go from serving dinner on the right to the left side of the table, (what’s next, Rach? Are you gonna put the “G.B” on the BACK counter????)
9. Why does RR constantly giggles to herself?… it makes me feel funny inside
10. Why does RR insist on talking to her honey jar and screaming that she is going to “SQUEEZE MR. HONEY BEAR’S BELLY!!!!” ?
11. How can anyone have so many flipping movie theme nights?
12. The camera angles through the sliding pantry – huhhhhh????
13. Why does RR insist on bringing crappy food to her neighbors to “thank” them for checking her mail?
14. Why does RR call her hubby her “sweetie”? (It weirds me out big time)
15. What would possess someone to say “choup” and “stoop”?

16. Why does she always say that she is notorious for burning the stuff in the broiler, when she never, ever does?
17. Why would anyone want to invite their friends over for macaroni and cheese with cut up hot dogs? (no Rach, you can NOT serve this at a dinner party)
And finally,
18. Why does RR always say “it will make them say, ‘hmmmm what is thatttttt???’” when everyone already knows its NUTMEG ?????

I am offering a particularly large reward to anyone who can explain #13 – maybe her neighbors would like to clarify exactly what part of eating “Chili Dog Nachos Mac & Cheese” it is that they enjoy. Does she pay for your Nexium prescription? Why do you keep offering to check her mail and water her plants if this is your “reward”???? I am SO, SO sorry. I know a great realtor if you want to move…

*Above photo is of Rachypoo and her wax twin - double the fun!

Oh My Gosh, Oh My Gosh, Oh My Gosh!!!!!!

I’m sure by now you’ve heard the news, (and if you haven’t, get your head out of your bum)…

GIADA IS PREGGERS!!!

And guess what else, IT’S A GIRL due in April!!! That means that if I can figure out a way to turn back time and somehow artificially inseminate myself into Giada, (I’ll figure out the logistics of that later), that Giada can be my mom!!! And her Anthropologie-designer-hubby will be my dad!!! And I will have the de Laurentiis metabolism and my mama will make me sp-a-gh-e-tt-iii and pan-chhh-et-ta all day long! And my name will be Lauren de Laurentiis! How cool is that? (I’m assuming Giada will be nice enough to give her baby/me her last name, not her hubbys, because Thompson is not nearly as exciting as de-Lau-rren-tiiiiiiiis!)

The only question left is: exactly how big will her boobs get?

Tonight I am going to invent a way to transport food over the internet and television (I’ll make kazillions), then I will plan a way to make myself Giada’s baby, and thennnnn I will invent a camera lens that will be wide enough to get both of her pregnant boobs into one frame – this, of course, will be my hardest invention of all.

LESS THAN A MONTH UNTIL THANKSGIVING!!!!!

WARNING! Those of you, like me, who await Thanksgiving like an upper east-sider awaits the once-yearly-barneys-mega-sale, beware because this is a heart-breaking true story…
It wasn’t until college that I had the following enlightening realization: Thanksgiving is the best day of the year.

If you ask me, it is the holiest of holidays because it is based purely around my one true love: food. You simply can’t have Thanksgiving without a feast! What a fabulous idea. I’m sure you’re asking yourself, why did this thought come about so late in her life? How could she not have seen the glory that is Bird Day from her first taste of mashed potatoes? How could the alluring smell of gravy not have stirred her soul before?

I’ll tell you why. This, like everything in life, is all my mother’s fault. She would create magnificent meals everyday: BBQ pulled pork on brioche rolls… beef stew made from scratch… homemade ravioli… chocolate chip pancakes shaped like animals… the woman is a true genius. She made us fell like everyday was a holiday. Fast forward to college; ramen noodles, cafeteria mystery meat, buffalo wings from bars without kitchens (where did they come from?). I decided that in order to fully appreciate the glory that is Thanksgiving I needed to go into training. I began a vigorous physical routine that demanded such willpower and strength of character that even Lance Armstrong couldn’t have completed it… I was going to stretch my stomach to its full capacity.

It began slowly, but surely. I started to add snacks in between my meals, then full meals in between my meals, (if brunch exists so does lunner), and then finally I began condensing the multiple meals into three large meals per day. I had been reaching every goal I set for myself so I decided to up the ante. Living in New Orleans at the time, I knew exactly where to go, a restaurant known for its half pound burgers and fully, and I mean fully, loaded baked potatoes: Port of Call.

I ordered a burger with everything and a tater with everything and finished them both with ease. It was two days before I was set to go home for Thanksgiving, so I knew it was crunch time. Everything was going according to plan; all I had to do now was stretch my stomach to its maximum capacity and then fast the day before Thanksgiving to allow for a full tummy tank of Thanksgiving delicacies. I ordered another burger. “That’s right,” I said to the waitress with a prideful smirk on my face, “I’ll take another.” The burger came. I took a bite. Then another. And another. It wasn’t until halfway through that “the incident” occurred.

I was raising the burger to my face with both hands gripping the bun tightly, eager to get every last drop of ketchup into my mouth, when suddenly I froze. It was as if every muscle in my body had cramped up. I tried to get one last bite down but I couldn’t swallow, I couldn’t even move! I began to panic. I had heard about this before; competitive eaters who over-exert themselves and go into what every foodie fears,

a food coma.

Terror ran through my body and chills climbed down my back. Could this really be happening to me? After all my training? All my hard work? I finally understood how Nancy Kerrigan must have felt.

The coma lasted three days, just long enough to ruin the blessed event. I tried not to let it get me down; I loaded up my Thanksgiving plate just like everyone else with a hopeful determination I had never felt before. I raised a forkful of stuffing to my face. My stomach cramped up just from the idea. Come on you can do this. I chewed. I swallowed. I clenched my stomach in agony – I was experiencing a pain I had never felt before. I evicted my young cousin who was sitting next to me, pulled her chair next to mine and lied down. And that, my friend, is where I stayed for the next three hours.

Drop the Zero and Get with the Hero, Baby!

I find diet coke to be soul stirring. There is absolutely nothing like the sound of cans popping in the morning. I imagine that the “phissstttt” of the bubbles is the same sound angles make while singing hymns to the Big Man Himself. Call me a Diet-Coke-Head and I’ll wear the title with pride.

I do not find it odd to order a double bacon burger smothered in cheese with a side of lard and a diet coke to drink. I would never look twice at a grocery cart filled with boxes of diet coke and one lonely bag of frozen chicken poppers and an extra large jar of mayonnaise. I do however find it very odd that anyone would abandon this ol’ faithful friend for “Coke Zero.” This is very, very upsetting to me but like my mother always taught me, the best way to deal with a problem is by being mature and facing it head on, so that is what I will do:

Dear Coke Zero,
Who exactly do you think you are? It is sickening to me that you would walk into my vending machine and try to shove out my beloved DC who has been a member of our community for years. DC has stood by me through thick and thin – literally – and now you want to stroll right into my grocery store and try to take over? Do you think I can be wooed by your promise of providing me with nutrients and vitamins? Well, I will not be swayed. You should be ashamed of yourself. Your name is so fitting, Mr. ZERO, because that is what you are – a BIG, FAT, ZERO. Kindly remove yourself from my presence at once.

Thank you,
Lauren-Torie Niosi

An Apology…

I would like to take this opportunity to apologize to the owners, managers, chefs, and wait staff of buffet restaurants. It is wrong to pile one plate so high that the person carrying it can no long be identified. It is wrong to claim to be pregnant with triplets and “eating for four.” It is wrong to fast beforehand and eat seven meals at once. But isn’t that what storing up is all about? It would be criminal to be wasteful with food and take more than one can consume, but I assure you, my eyes are not bigger than my stomach and I will eat every last morsel. Regardless, I am very sorry for the embarrassment and fiscal losses you have faced by letting me patron your fine establishments. It will not happen again.

(Maybe).

*The above photo is of me and my best bud, Erin, and was taken on a little road trip to the glorious island of Hilton Head, SC. Sorry Golden Corral – you should have known better than to let me in!

Chain, Chain, Chain, Chain of Fooooooood:

I believe the major injustice in my life has been growing up in a neighborhood with very few chain restaurants – zero to be exact. Mine eyes had not seen the glory of a drive through window, an onion blossom, or a never ending pasta bowl until I went away to college. Since the big move, I have had the pleasure of testing the creations of every chain restaurant. As long as I could squeeze my fat ass through the doorway, a pleasurable experience was bound to follow.

(Hey, I'm not alone! Actual food experts at Grub Street agree with me that "Chain Restaurants Are Where it's At!")

In the past five years I have gained not only a few extra pounds, but also the knowledge of a true chain restaurant coinsurer. Some favorites include Houston’s, TGI Fridays, Cheesecake Factory, Panera, and the 8th Wonder of the World – CHIPOTLE.

Yes, I once drove and hour and a half to go to TGI Fridays for potato skins. Yes, I originally thought Panera was a mom and pop restaurant with only one location, (my first bread-bowl miracle occurred in Columbus, Ohio and when I met someone who was also from Columbus I asked if they had ever been to “this really cute little sandwich place…”). Yes I started crying on a Tuesday night at Houston’s when the waitress told me chili was only served on Wednesdays. I admit, I once cut a little kid in line to get the last counter seat at Waffle House. And fine, twist my arm, I lied and pretended to be from Alabama while digesting on a rocking chair and talking to an old lady outside of a Cracker Barrel (I wanted to fit in, so sue me). My addiction has lead me to commit many sins but none as bad as what I did yesterday…

Is it so wrong to take a cab three blocks to Chipotle? Is it so horrible to have the cab wait outside while one gets a burrito and then drive the three blocks back? Is it offensive to shove the glorious burrito down my throat while sitting in my underwear on the couch, salsa verde dripping down my forearms? Is it unethical to tell my friends that the black bean stains on my couch are from a horrific making-brownies-for-orphans-and-the-pan-flew-across-my-kitchen-into-the-livingroom accident? I ask you this, my friend, is that a crime?

Shame on them, not me! I was not the one to create the irresistible combination of succulent chicken, moist black beans, spicy salsa, cooling sour cream, ooey-gooey melty cheese, and creamy guacamole all wrapped up in a warm tortia. I was not the one to supply this drug to the masses! I employ you - blame the dealer, not the addict! I simply can not be responsible for my actions when faced with a burrito lovingly made to my specifications by a blessed Chipotle employee, so if you see me coming, look out.

*There are nine, yes NINE Chipotles within a mile of my apartment… DAMN YOU CHIPOTLE!!!!!

And Now It’s Time For Your LAST MEAL!!!!!:

My Bestest Friend Ever Davis says: Im currently thinking of what my last meal would be and I can't decide. I think everything… I would just eat myself to death and my last word would be "haha suckas, looks like you can't kill me now!" We’ll that’s a few words so maybe I would just say "suckas." They would know what I was referring to, and if they didn’t I would kindly ask you to explain the true sentiment I was expressing when I said it.

Don't you just love that?!