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Men & Meat; Chicks Shouldn’t BBQ

English: Fresh cut meat for Korean BBQ Categor...
English: Fresh cut meat for Korean BBQ Category:Korean cuisine (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Women love looking after their man.

You can tell how great a man is to his partner by how well he’s taken care of.

When my friends and I are in relationship bliss with our significant others, we cook for them, buy them little gifties, let them have all the man-cave time they want and think it’s cute, sexy even.

When a man looks after his woman, she gives it back in multiples. Pun absolutely intended.

Cooking becomes more than making sure he eats, it’s a pleasure watching him enjoy his food. His nodding off while lounging at home in the evening is so sweet.  When a man is gentle with his woman, everything is bliss.

…and then there’s reality… 

I think that’s why we have raw meat and flames.   When a man’s manliness gets in the way of relating – he doesn’t listen, he’s insensitive or his head is generally hidden up his butt, there’s always the BBQ; A man’s reliable weapon during the battle of the sexes.

I’m getting ahead of myself though. You perhaps need a refresher regarding the definition of  Man-Dumb. You know what I’m talking about when I say “man-dumb” don’t you ladies? I mean MAN DUMB. As in, you could tell him eight bazillion ways about how you feel and he still wouldn’t get it and doesn’t seem to care to get it- that’s MAN DUMB.

Pointing out how you could have done everything better – cut your hair, baked cookies, spoken to your boss – and then get defensive saying he’s just trying to help – that’s MAN DUMB.

We don’t want you to fix things boys, we want you to wrap your big strapping arms around us and say it’s ok. We want you, as well-groomed and smelling pretty as you very well may be, to be our Manosaurusrex. Anything else at the pinnacle of girl-crisis is MAN-DUMB.  We have our girlfriends for strategy. That’s who we commune with in the war-room of life. We need you for moral support and unconditional adoration.

You, my strapping piece of man-sausage are our rock and knight in shining armor.

So, back to the barbecue. Meat and flames….what gives?

Well, I think when the battle of the sexes has reached a long, cool, stalemate, the last bastion of hope is the grill. There’s something very sexy, primitive even, about a man feeding a woman. It’s like he went out and slayed the big scary  beast and is protecting his woman.  Sorta.

Maybe that’s just the gin and tonic talking sweetheart.  A man at the barbecue  when we’re delusional post-period, can melt our cold little hearts.  The barbecue can turn a man who apparently either can’t hear, read non-verbal cues, or appreciate that he’s in a relationship with a woman, (not his mother) into a sex god.

It doesn’t matter how MAN DUMB your man has been.  If you see him out there, grilling, over a red-hot flame – you can’t help but be turned on a little bit. I mean, can you?  Just think of it, Mr. Sexy-I’ve-worked-hard-all-day-but-I’m-still-takin’-care-of-my-baby…..give him a break ladies.

So, Chicks Shouldn’t BBQ. We should meditate on the meat, er, I mean testosterone standing out there on the deck, and smile knowing what we get for dessert. After all ladies, we all know that summer is the best time for shakin’ up the bacon that the Manosaurusrex brought home.

Have BBQ – auditioning for guest chefs…

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Lotus Flowers in Ritan Park
Lotus Flowers in Ritan Park (Photo credit: gadgetdan)

Sometimes, it seems like the world has gone mad. Like the love of kindness has dried off and fallen off like an old wart.

Drivers crowd the cars in the merging lane as if to allow someone to enter the flow of traffic is to be defeated and weak.

Shoppers guard their spots in too-long grocery store line-ups and eyeball anyone who steps out of formation.

Neighbours keep one another up at night without consideration for the precious healing power of silence and slumber.

Coworkers go about their to-do lists as if they are lone soldiers in the battle of poor-me-working-for-a-living without taking time to care about the well-being of their colleagues.

Life can be void of kindness for long periods of time.

That’s what makes kindness such a wonderful treat. I recently had a great kindness extended to me by someone I have met only in passing.  Their friendly, kind, generous  message seemed suspect at first.

I caught myself thinking;

1) What does he want?

2) Is he going to try and poison me against so-and-so?

3) Is he a wolf in sheep’s clothing?

4) Id’ better be careful  and not tell him too much.

And then I thought, maybe, just maybe it’s a genuine outreach of support. Maybe, like me, this person just wants to connect and form a positive relationship.

Yep, that’s what I’m going to go with. Kindness like love surrounds all of us. We just have to appreciate it for what it is, not what we wish it to be.

Although I wish loved looked a little more like a hot-passionate-love-note-bouquet-of-peonies-poetry-worthy-romance, I do have an abundance of love in my life.

Today I wish all of you kindness.

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What Makes a Man Sexy

Black and White Model
Black and White Model (Photo credit: Jason Pier in DC)

Regularly, I am asked by my shyly smiling male contemporaries, quite often after they’ve had a few too many swigs of their tipple of choice, what I find sexy about a man.

“A particular man?”, I ask in return, aware that the man drinking beside me has sex on the brain. “No. Just men in general.”

Hmm? Men in general. Well, let’s just say that I love all of you delicious little hors d’oeurves equally until one of you performs one of the je ne sais quois maneuvers that tip me over the edge of mere curiosity to flat-out want-you-need-you-gotta-have you.

Pour me an ultra dry martini please bartender. No ice. I have some serious business to write about.

Here’s my list of head-turning quirks that make a man irresistible;

1) Initial timidity. That looking out from under your brow a la Princess Di  style can be kinda hot. But not forever, then it’s just creepy.

2) Peeing without pulling your pants down all the way. No you idiot, not the urination part, the masculine stance part that women just don’t do.

3) Watching a man tie a tie.

4) How a man’s hands look when they’re holding their beer, scotch, rum, or water-glass. Grip reveals a lot about a fella.

5) Watching a man shave when he doesn’t know you’re looking.

6) Tightie Whities.  No, I’m not kidding. You all look smashing in them.

7) Hair where there should be a little bit. Perhaps this is a nod to evolutionary theory, but hair on a man’s legs, chest and knuckles (ok, just a moderate amount)is sexy. Manscaping is highly, highly over-rated. Trimming is not.

8) A freshly shaven hairline at the nape of a man’s neck. Don’t ask me why, just stay silent darling.

9) I know it’s politically incorrect, but watching a man take a drag from a cigarette drives me wild.

10) Watching a man tease the tender bits from an artichoke leaf with his teeth just about sends me over the titillating edge as well.

There you have it gentlemen. A snapshot into the mind of the fairer sex. Good luck to you all. Remember, if all else fails, you can come over here fresh from the barber shop, have a shave in your undies and begin to tie your tie…but you won’t get much further than that.

Via con Dios gentlemen. I wish you luck with your ladies.

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Savoury Sunday: Crevettes a la Grecque

Glasses (Photo credit: Simon_sees)

It’s been a while darlings. It’s not that I’ve forgotten about you, I’ve just been terribly busy, pre-occupied, and frankly, enjoying the simple pleasures of the barbecue.

Alas, I am back with a delicious recipe for you to enjoy while dining al fresco under the stars after the sun has set and the humidity is blown away by  the cool evening breeze.

Shrimp in Mediterranean sauce is simple, easy and delicious; the way that food should be prepared and served. With a few fine quality ingredients and lots of love, you can enjoy this simple dish with your true-love without having to spend hours slaving over the stove.

Add a glass or five of Joseph Cattin Pinot Gris spritzed half and half with ice-cold club soda and a wedge of juicy lime. Be sure to have a baguette and fresh salad of baby greens with a simple vinegraitte, and you’re all set.

Don’t worry darlings, I haven’t forgotten the  ambiance. Please see my preferred selection below the recipe.



1/2 cup dry white wine

1/2 cup water

1/3 cup olive oil

2 large garlic cloves (thinly sliced NOT crushed)

1 small red onion (finely chopped)

1 large lemon with finely pared zest

2 tbsp. lemon juice

1 tbsp. coriander seeds (lightly toasted)

1/2 tbsp. ground pepper

20 large shrimp or equivalent smaller shrimp

Fresh flat-leaf parsley (chopped for garnish)


1) Combine wine, water, oil, garlic, onion, lemon zest, lemon juice, coriander seeds, pepper into a pan and bring to a boil.

2)Cover and simmer for 20 minutes.

3) Add the shrimp and simmer for approximately 3 minutes or until the shrimp (depending on size) turn pink. Remove from pan and place in serving bowl.

4) Bring the liquid back to a boil and reduce it by half (approx. 5 minutes)

5) Pour over shrimp and serve warm, garnished with parsley.


What would a romantic dinner be without a little music?

I’m going to suggest a summery-remix of one of my favourites;

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Midnight Madness of my Mind

Nightmare (Photo credit: Luciana Christante)

Sunday morning, 10am.

I’m usually rolling around in my cozy bed, mid-fantasy-dream about some weird combo of Johnny Depp, Hunter S. Thompson, and Diana Gabaldon’s famed character, Scottish stud James Fraser.

This morning however, I’m wide awake, having had my coffee, made the bed, and whipped my hair into some kind of acceptable state of tousle.

Alas, this is not due to having rushed some stud out the door earlier.

Instead, I must place the delicate finger of blame on the persistent, ugly-step-sister of joy – Anxiety. She’s one tough gal.

After an exhausting life-or-death sprint, and trying to scream with no sound coming out, I awoke completely disoriented, unable to move from my prone position in the twisted, sweat-soaked sheets.

When I finally stumbled from the haze of my nightmare,  I realized I was in my own bed, albeit in a weird position half down the mattress with my arms stretched open, my feet hanging off the end of the bed, in some weird blanket twisting torture.

I checked the time on my glow-in-the-dark watch face. 3:15am. The witching hour. Superb.

Untangling myself from the cold, damp, sheets I stumbled out of bed and flung my door open. Witching hour be damned, I needed fresh air and a mind-clearing-chocolate-something-or-other.

Wedging as much of one of my homemade chocolate-chip cookies in my sticky, nighttime mouth, I dragged my sleepy feet to the patio and stepped out into the night air.

Bills, money, my job, what if, what if, what if, what if, what if I got it all wrong? What if I never get it right? What if, what if, what if, what if…..  I breathed the cool air in and out, holding back tears and trying to get my heart-rate back to normal from the dangerous pace of being frozen in fear as I came out of my nightmare.

It’s moments like these that having a lover who feels your touch and takes you in his arms during a moment of half-sleep can make it all ok. It’s nights that this that make you understand why we choose, in general, to go through life in a dependable partnership. A hug can clear your head and cure your racing heart-rate at 3am much faster than eating a cookie or getting some air.

So here I am. 10am, wide awake, with nothing to show for my anxiety but a bad hair-do and a fresh pot of coffee. Like so many other people I know who create a convincing front, no one would ever guess what we fabulously strong, professional, single-gals get up to at 3am.

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Glampers & Foodies

glamping. (Photo credit: ellekirshner)

No doubt those who consider themselves ‘glampers’  would proudly  raise their flaccid arms if asked who in the crowd were also foodies.

Glampers and foodies make me want to take a pistol to the back of my head and aim directly at my brainstem.

Glamping? Really? Honestly darling, quit trying so hard because clearly you’re an asshole.

Harsh? Too rough? No, camping is rough darling. That’s what it’s supposed to be. It’s a communing with nature, respecting her delicate boundaries, and not dragging more than you can carry into her great, sacred, naturally dark and wonder-filled interior.

Patio lights and designer melamine dinner ware?  Thank you for ruining the planet sweetie. Thank you for numbly buying every-freaking-fad-advertised and keeping our city planners building daycare centres on top of carcinogen-leaking landfills.

Oh, what’s that my sweet little ball of dumbass?  You’re also a foodie? Well, isn’t that swell.

Pour me a nice glass of bourbon sweetie, yes please, yes. That’s right. Pour it in that plastic tumbler that cost twenty-five dollars. That’s right. Oh yes, ice from the cooler you run off a gas-powered generator. Mmmm, does that ever hit the spot.

Mmm, what’s that? Heirloom tomatoes you say? Delish. You drove all the way to the other side of town to get them at the market? You’re an idiot. Do you even know what an heirloom tomato is without looking it up?

I’m continually astounded that you can prepare a delicious meal, and talk it to death at the table. I find that almost fascinating. Just kidding. No I don’t.

Next time I’m just going to bring an old cow and let you bore it to death in front of the barbecue. By the time you’re finished critiquing something you’ve never experienced, and only watched while scratching your Calvin-Klein-wrapped-package in front of the latest Food Network atrocity,  the poor cow will be wrestling me with it’s hoof for the pistol.

Say, it’s so nice to have this conversation whilst enjoying the sensual pleasures of mother nature. It’s so relaxing with the stars out overhead and the sound of bullfrogs. What’s that you say? It’s a jazz station, and those stars, that’s right, they’re the twinkle lights you bought on sale for $59.99.

Thanks for the totally gobsmacking glamping experience my foodie friend. If you hear a gunshot, please don’t roast my trendy ear and jowl bits. Just let the wolves get me.


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Women Who Go to Bed Alone

This is for the ladies out there who are going to bed alone tonight. This is for the strong women who have it all together, for whom no one but the shower stall knows their tears.

Pour a nice glass of red, maybe a couple of shots of bourbon, and take a few minutes to unwind and remember you’re only a stone-angel ‘most of the time’.