Donald Trump Loves His Mother's Meatloaf

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by Nancy Ellison

donald-trump_49021t.jpgPerhaps there should be a college course on Donald Trump – after all they have been lecturing on Barbie for decades! He is the last of the great Think Big, Act on Inspiration, and Let the World Know Just How Great You Are kinda guys. Like two gods in one room, the world may not be ready for too many Donald Trumps, but it is our luck that we have at least one!

Even luckier that he delights/infuriates us in Palm Beach! Only so much time can pass in Palm Beach before Donald’s name comes up, or you are sitting at a table in his grand ballroom for The International Red Cross Ball, or his private Bocelli concert. Of course I am referring to “The Donald” who because of Donald Duck’s fading career absolutely owns the name!

Truly, not since Donald Fauntleroy Duck has there been a Donald so internationally famous – and so rich – as Donald John Trump. Comparisons are in order:

Roseanne's Cookies are a Slice of Heaven

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by Roseanne Barr

roseanne-pointing1.jpgCan you believe it? I ended up on the nut farm! OK, no wise comments. I’m talking about a real nut farm in Hawaii, where my five kids and five grandkids can ramble around, work up an appetite (I don’t have to work at it), and then enjoy some of the luscious macadamia nut cookies that I’ll be making for them on Mother’s Day. (I know that’s backward — they should be making them for me.)

Mac nuts are the best — pearly and buttery, with just the right texture and so easy to crunch. Everybody loves them. Of course, that includes the wild pigs that have grudgingly agreed to let Granny (that’s me, I still can’t believe it), the kids and their pals share the place with them and the wild turkeys.

The gorgeous greenery, the ocean in the distance, the sound of the rain that keeps it all lush and fragrant: It’s a sweet slice of heaven, and I hope everyone can find their own little slice of that, wherever they are.

On Nuts and Nutcrackers

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by Lee Harrington

almondsinshells.jpg As we all know, one interesting by-product of the so-called 'economic crisis' is that many of us have become re-acquainted with the things that really matter in life i.e. love, comfort, safety, security, unlimited-ride Metrocards, and food.

I've actually been having a bit of fun learning more and more ways to economize in the Food department, much of which involves, well, cooking. Something I never did in my before-crash life.  I'm one of those people who simply cannot be trusted in the kitchen. I burn – no, scorch – expensive pots, set fire to spatulas (once because I left it in the oven) and have ruined more electric tea kettles than I care to count. How, you ask? I put them on the stove.

I have an excellent excuse which is that I am recovering from a mild traumatic brain injury – but that is another story, not to be belabored here.

The point of this tangent is: I should not, not, not cook. Thus, raw. Thus we come to the point of this particular piece: Why you should crack your own nuts.

Roasted Radishes: So Who Knew?

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by Melissa Clark

From the NY Times

roastedradish.jpgOf all the things you can do with a radish — slice it into salads, chop it into salsa, shred it into slaw or, better, top it with a thick layer of sweet butter and a sprinkling of flaky sea salt — the last thing I’d thought to do was cook it.

But last spring I started noticing roasted radishes sprouting up on menus all over New York City. Even the fancy takeout shop near my house was offering them every now and again. Clearly, there was a reason to cook a radish, and I wanted in.

So I gave it a try, roasting a bunch of halved radishes in a hot oven with plenty of butter and lemon juice.

One mouthful, and I immediately got the appeal. Instead of spicy, crisp and crunchy, these radishes were sweet, succulent and mellow, vaguely like turnips but with a softer bite.

I continued to cook radishes all season long, pan roasting them instead of oven roasting when the weather became too hot. I usually ate them for lunch sprinkled with feta cheese and herbs, or sometimes left them naked but for extra sea salt and cracked black pepper.

Read article...

Almond-Olive Oil Cookies with an Apricot Ribbon

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by Sue Doeden

dandelion.jpgDandelions do not lie. Hold one of those wild flowers under my chin and you will see. A sunshiny reflection of that yellow dandelion will show up on the skin just under my chin. As a child, my friends and I would play that game as we braided dandelions to make necklaces and bracelets. Always, the test results would show I loved butter. And, always, a couple of my jewelry-making friends would fail the test. No yellow reflection would show up under their chin. They did not love butter.

My mother was raised on a farm with fresh milk and creamy butter. I learned early on that butter made the best cookies. And, butter is the only thing that should be spread on toast, pancakes, waffles and French toast. Everything is better with butter. That's been my motto.

Recently, when I discovered my cholesterol is a little elevated, I've started being more conscious of the fat I'm consuming. I guess all that butter has finally caught up with me.


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