I think everyone who reads this blog on a semi-regular basis knows my feelings in general about homemade, handmade, and getting your hands into things being a big part of my personal philosophy of being superfantastic. I’m in favor, full stop.

But that doesn’t mean I’m a fanatic or that I don’t recognize that there are a lot of lives out there that don’t work the way mine does.

And so it is that I was glad to see a book like Make the Bread, Buy the Butter suddenly become not only a best seller, but a tiny sliver of a cultural phenomenon. There are things that are really, seriously better and usually less expensive when made by hand… and there are things where the hassle hugely outweighs any benefit to the average human being. Having someone come along and quantify which is which is kind of a cool idea.

In general, I think Jennifer Reese does a pretty good job of doing just that.

Note that I said ‘in general.’ After all, Jennifer Reese is one person with amusingly phrased opinions. Your mileage – like mine – may vary. In some cases wildly so.

It’s hard to argue with her assertion that buying eggs is cheaper, easier, and a lot less hassle with neighbors and local urban authorities than raising chickens in a backyard in the city. In fact, I think that could have gone without saying, though I certainly would have missed her colorful descriptions of her experiments in the matter.

On the other hand, her conclusion about chutney is that there’s no point in making or buying it because nobody in the world actually likes chutney. Again, her prose is highly entertaining, but I’ve got a brother with a two-jar a month chutney habit. He’s got a tamarind on his back, and I think he might well enjoy making his own. Reese describes making the Cordon Rose Banana Cake from Rose Levy Beranbaum’s Cake Bible as a frustratingly picky process that resulted in a mediocre cake that nobody could possibly enjoy. That’s the cake I throw together on a dull afternoon when overripe bananas go on desperation sale at my neighborhood grocery because it’s fast, easy, and extremely popular in my crowd. Also, her scones are wildly over-fussy (though I do understand she was trying to replicate an over-fussy scone from Starbucks), and she definitely over-complicates making vanilla extract.

Reese’s method for vanilla? Split the vanilla bean, scrape out the seeds, put bean pod and seeds in small glass bottle, carefully measure the vodka, pour it over the bean and seeds, shake, let sit to do its magic. My father’s method for vanilla? Split the bean not quite in two, put it in the bottle of vodka, allow to ripen.

My other complaint with this book? Endless tiny, wry jabs at weight. Over and over again she talks about how making something too often would result in her becoming hugely fat, which is – it goes without saying, but gets said anyway – a fate worse than the death it will result in with undue rapidity. I have a feeling if I went through the book with a highlighter and marked every anti-fat comment in it, it would begin to look like those scripts back in the day when I got the lead in the school play.

Still, those quibbles aside, this is a highly entertaining book with a lot of great, pithy advice in it. It’s brimful of instructions for making things that most people would never imagine it possible to make at home. Sure, we all know that we can buy pasta makers and that home baked bread is a possibility, even if we never try doing those things for ourselves. But how many of us seriously contemplate that it’s even possible to make our own Worscestershire sauce, let alone whether or not it’s worth the effort? When was the last time you considered making your own yogurt? Curing your own Canadian bacon?

Also, the book is refreshingly free from pseudo-spirituality of the kitchen and humorless political screeds. It’s about the practical, the fun of trying out new things, and the balancing act we all have to pull off everyday between the ideal and the reality of life.

I think Reese’s attitude is best summed up by this quote from the afterword:

“Almost everything is better when homemade. While this may have started off as an opinion (though I’m not sure it did), I would now state it confidently as fact. Almost everything. But not everything. Which makes me inordinately happy. Because I think it’s reassuring that you can walk into a supermarket and buy a bag of potato chips and a tub of rice pudding that are better than you can make at home.”

While I might personally put my rice pudding up against anything found in a tub at a grocery store, there are certainly other things that I find better – and even sometimes more satisfying – to buy than to make. If you’re looking to figure out which is which in your world, I highly recommend taking a good, long look at this book… and then deciding for yourself.

Yesterday I spent much of the day at the American Consulate waiting for Hot Latin Boy to renew his tourist visa.

As such, I spent four hours people watching and wondering what sort of decision-making process would start out “What should I wear to my very important potentially life-changing government interview” and arrive at “shredded thigh jeans, shooties ordered from the back of Modern Streetwalker and a hickey the size of Gorbachev’s port wine stain.”

Baffling.

Anyway, it’s been a while, but since it’s time to resurrect the featurette and see What Miss Plumcake is…

Reading: “The Sunday Philosophy Club” by Alexander McCall Smith. Not quite as good as his more famous and thoroughly charming No. 1 Ladies Detective Agency, but a pleasant, entertaining light read for people who don’t leave their brains behind when they go to the beach.

Watching: Mary and Max. An uncomfortable yet tender black comedy from the country who does it best: Australia. The story of a neglected Australian school girl and her middle-aged Asperger’s penpal from New York is somewhere between Nick Park (Wallace and Gromit) and Tim Burton, with the signature dark quirkiness of the best of Oz cinema . It’s not without flaws, but it’s worth a watch just for the blackboard at the Over-Eaters Anonymous meeting.

Hearing: La Bamba: Sones Jarochos from Veracruz. Like most Americans, I was only familiar with son jarocho via Ritchie Valens’ electric iteration of the oeuvre’s 800 pound gorilla, La Bamba; but last night Hot Latin Boy and I were treated to a more traditional setting of the Afro-Cuban influenced music of Mexico’s largest Atlantic port. Two scruffy young men in tight-brimmed fedoras called out verses while playing jaranas, small eight-stringed guitar-like instruments native to Veracruz, while a willowy woman –all shoulder blades and arrogance– stomped out a sort of flamenco percussion with her feet. I downloaded this album last night as a sort of primer course, and I’ve been listening to it nonstop.

Smelling: Poivre by Caron. Scandalously expensive, notoriously hard to get and heart-wrenchingly sublime, Caron’s 1954 ode to pepper and carnation is a masterpiece of composition, a savage dance contained within absolute restraint; it’s Stravinsky in a bottle. It’s the 1913 Sacre Printemps riot at the Théâtre des Champs-Élysées. It’s magnificent and I’d trade my Birkin for an ounce of the original juice. Interestingly, I’m not the only one making symphonic comparisons. Read more about Poivre and its little sister Coup de Fouet, at Perfume Shrine.

Loving: Kay Unger Shimmer Bolero on Super Sale (sizes limited). Where the heck was this when I was going to six weddings a month and couldn’t find a damn dress with sleeves?

Hating: Candycornsayswhat? I can almost see a good dress in there somewhere, were it not afflicted with the dreaded shapelessness that Saks Fifth Avenue (among others) seems determined fat people want.

Wanting: Gourmet Sea Salt Sampler There’s nothing quite like a good dose of cholera to set one’s usually adventurous dining habits straight back to “just some buttered toast please” for another six weeks. I take my toast –and there’s been so much toast– buttered, with just the lightest imaginable sprinkling of salt. I’m a sucker for exotics, and although the local cheapo stuff is actually a surprisingly subtle, flaky sea salt, I’ve been having almost untoward fantasies about this sampler.

Buying: Almond Meal. A few weeks ago while fantasizing about my future life in Spain, I whipped up a simple orange and almond olive oil cake inspired by one I sampled at a dinner party thrown by a charming Iberian lawyer and his two equally charming (and equally Iberian too, I suppose) sons.  At least it would’ve been simple if I hadn’t had to grind the almonds by hand in my molcajete. The cake is right up my alley –a simple unfrosted round, bright with citrus, olive oil and ground nuts– so I invested in a large bag of raw almond meal. Now I add it to everything I bake. I love the texture, the nutty taste and hey, replacing a bit of wheat flour with almond meal increases the nutritional value and flavor profile at the same time. What’s not to love?

Watching: Joan Rivers: A Piece of Work I was never a Joan Rivers fan. I didn’t dislike her per se, but the red carpet fixture never exactly struck me as anything but a Catskills comic better suited to the center square than center stage. This biopic chronicling a year in the life of the groundbreaking (seriously, she was making abortion jokes on TV when it was still in black and white) comedian changed all that. I’m still not a fan of her comedy but I admire her as much as I admire anyone in the entertainment industry today because Joan Rivers hustles. She always hustles. She works constantly, is completely dedicated to her craft and providing for herself and her many dependents, including the children of her employees, who go to private school on her dime. She tells of Johnny Carson, who gave her her start, blacklisting her from NBC when she dared get her own show, how her husband committed suicide and left her a single mother with a ton of debt and over and over (and over) again you see the usually-unspoken bias against female comedians come into light throughout her career. I can’t recommend this doc enough for anyone interested in feminism and the entertainment industry, and it should be required viewing for those of us who attempt to ovulate and make people laugh at the same time.

Hearing: Lyle Lovett – Road to Ensenada
A classic from the Long Tall Texan himself, I pulled this, quite naturally, for this weekend’s drive down the road to Ensenada. This immaculately crafted combination of big band blues (well, it’s not big, it’s large) and Texas-twinged singer/songwriter fare is one of my top 50 albums of all time. Oh, and when Lyle sings the road to Ensenada is plenty wide and fast, he’s using artistic license. It’s a beautiful winding deathmaze as twisted as Charlie Sheen’s psyche and twice as dangerous.

Smelling: Demeter Fragrance Library – Bulgarian Rose
Y’know, I’ve been feeling a little old school lately. Simple, pared down. My highly exclusive masterwork fragrances seem a bit out of place at the open air market where I buy my produce and get abused by the little Oaxacan lady who works there. A sunny stroll along the beach attempting to count the unattended naked children running feral on the shore does not require an almost architectural opus of scent composition and for this reason I’ve been feeling Demeter’s Bulgarian Rose. You don’t get much more old school than Bulgarian Rose, but with typical Demeter style, this isn’t an old lady perfume; it’s merely a precise if breathy reproduction of the scent of a hearty pink Bulgarian rose. Nothing more, nothing less. It’s also one of the rare rose scents that doesn’t turn into pickles on me and it’s cheap enough to use up in two months spraying it on everything from bed linens to tablecloths for a classically pretty but not at all cloying finishing touch.

Loving: Cake Beauty Products
Were you to ask one of my perfumista pals to describe what your devoted Plummy does NOT want in a fragrance they’d probably say something like “Nothing foody or fruity or twee.” and okay, that’s true, which is why Cake Beauty products, particularly their Lemon Cupcake moisturizer are such guilty pleasures. I got this liter bottle of Lemon Cupcake lotion on sale somewhere and it smells straight up like Froot Loops. Now, there’s probably something wrong with a grown woman wanting to smell like Froot Loops, and I certainly don’t want to Loop it up in public, but for the after-shower, pre-bedtime moisturizing, this product is ideal. The scent isn’t long-lived and it doesn’t have any parabens or nasty stuff. Plus it’s inexpensive as all get out so I can afford to slather it on, enjoy my Froot Loopiness and wake up in the morning with hydrated skin sans the breakfast cereal scent.

Hating: Tardiness
I believe my two friends I took to Ireland with me last year will attest how I feel about tardiness. They nearly made me miss our plane from Heathrow and as soon as we landed in Shannon I marched myself directly to the reservation desk and tried to book myself a ticket to Spain because I sure as hell wasn’t going to spend a week with those no-time-keeping fools. In the intervening year I’ve managed to calm down a little, but Mexico, where it’s the cultural norm to be two hours late to a party, is working overtime on my delicate last nerve. Totally hypothetical situation: let’s say one person threw a party that started at four, and spent a lot of time and money making sure everything went off without a hitch, which is pretty darn difficult when your power inexplicably goes out for almost 24 hours the day before. Two and a half hours roll by, the barbecued brisket is turning into shoe leather and the first guest has yet to arrive. Four hours later several invited guests (plus even more uninvited ones) show up and don’t leave until midnight. That hostess should be allowed to spend the next day in bed eating grapefruit and drinking bourbon until she doesn’t to kill anyone anymore, right? Right.

Wanting: ReVive Serum Presse
Got this little potion in a Barney’s goodie bag last year and have just started to use it and wow, it’s great. Spendy but great. Maybe the magic gift with purchase fairy will wend a full-size sample my way when next I load up on my favorite Barney’s-only scents.

Buying: Weighmax Electronic Kitchen Scale
Man, I was surprised at my reluctance to buy a food scale. Most recipes here are done by weight not volume so it’s a necessary evil, but it roused a whole mess of latent fat girl feelings in me. I don’t know if my eating disordered grandmother or my pudge-prone mother ever used one of these things, but it FEELS like deprivation. Like I should be measuring out my 200 grams of lean protein and breathlessly waiting to see whether I’m allowed six or seven almonds as my healthy mid-afternoon snack. Living so near the sea and working with unfamiliar familiar ingredients (refined sugar isn’t white here, and flour has a slightly different texture) using a food scale is crucial, but I’ll admit I bought it online because I didn’t want to be the fat girl with the food scale standing in line at the supermercado. Weird, huh.

Every twice in a while dreams really do come true.

Remember way back in November when I wrote up a Christmas wish list? If not, I’ll give you a minute to go back and take another look. It’s okay. I’ll be right here.

Got it? Good.

Four of the five things on that list are still not within my grasp, but they will be one day. One of them, though…

Yes, Mr. Twistie got the hint and gave me the entire series of Pushing Daisies on Blu Ray!

Soooo… I guess the party’s at Casa Twistie, all you fellow Pushing Daisies fans!

Of course, between one thing and another it took us until yesterday to actually set up the Blu Ray player we bought three months ago (don’t ask). But yesterday at long last I was able once again to follow the adventures of the Pie Maker and the Girl Called Chuck.

What could possibly make me happier?

Well, there is one thing. I may not have gotten that Jacques Pepin megatome I wanted, but I did get another amazing cookbook I wanted for Christmas:

All About Roasting by Molly Stevens is an in-depth look at the art of roasting as well as a fabulous compendium of tasty recipes to test out your new skills. I’m  learning lots of new exciting things about roasting food, which delights me. But even if you don’t sit down and read about the whys and wherefores, the recipes are so delicious the book would still be well worth the list price of $35.00. Of course, it doesn’t hurt that you can get it right now at Cooking.com for a mere $23.09.

Trust me, the recipe for the roasted fennel, red onion, and orange salad is worth the price of admission alone! How do I know? I made it last night for dinner. Mr. Twistie was a little unsure about eating roasted orange peel at first, but once he tasted it he yummed it up.

I can’t wait to try out more recipes!

So yesterday was a wonderful day. I got to try out my two favorite Christmas presents, and they both made me tremendously happy.

What does all this mean?

Clearly it means the party is at Casa Twistie!

What’s making you feel like the party’s at your place today?

Okay, it was more like four, but that’s four more than I expected and because I love to love you babies, I thought I’d do a little featurette for those wanting to reproduce the Miss Plumcake at Villa Plumcake look at home.

I’m not shy by any stretch of the imagination, but I don’t often do this sort of thing. It comes across as a little self-indulgent, even for me.

Also, just in case you were wondering, that’s not weird nipple action, I’m just pretty sure I had my keys in my bra. That’s right mijas,  it’s all glamor at Villa Plumcake.

Here’s how to get the look:

HAT This is the exact hat in the photo, a crushable, abuseable, practically indestructible white fabric and wire sunhat.

I removed the ribbon and adjusted the brim into more of a portrait shape for maximum Joan Collins effect and wore it almost every day.

>SUNGLASSES Admittedly this is a bit of Advanced Fashion as the non-ironic white sunglasses can be difficult to pull off, but I love my mother of pearl Clubmasters (I also have them in a caramel jasper treatment) and really, when one is wearing All White All The Time, darker shades just won’t do. The variations and pearlescence of the frame stop them from looking hipster and land them safely into 1930′s glamor.

JOURNAL My grandmother kept a record of her Grand Tour of Europe, jotted down in a neat little notebook of Moroccan red leather with the most over-the-top rococo gilt swirls embossed along the cover.

Determined to maintain the travelogue tradition, I picked up a small but sturdy handmade leather journal on my first trip across the pond and have used it exclusively for my travel memoirs ever since.

Though the actual journal in the photo is a simple one-off I bought for ₤20 at King’s Cross Station in London, this travel-ready notebook has the same feel.

PEPPER PEN I never went anywhere alone without my pepper spray pen within easy reach, usually tucked into the neckline of my dress.

No one ever questioned why I always wrote with another pen.

It was a handy way to feel safe when I was walking around alone without openly insulting the locals.

BOLERO – I can’t remember where I picked up this Jessica Howard bolero cardigan, but I wish I’d bought a dozen of them.

The Pacific breeze can get a bit nippy and this, alternated with my wrap. kept me nice and snug.

The dress is an inexpensive Mexican-style white cotton sundress with a surplice neck and crocheted lace detailing on the skirt I picked up for almost nothing at Ross and the bra is the original (now discontinued) Lace Plunge from Lane Bryant.

So there you have it: Miss Plumcake at Villa Plumcake.

Add your own oceanfront lovenest, hot Latin footballer, mezcal (no worm, thank you) and shake. Olé!

I remember as a child holding earnest discussions with my fellow pre-adolescents about which sense it would be easiest – or hardest – to live without. It always seemed to me in those talks that the sense of smell got awfully short shrift from my fellow kids. In particular, I thought the ones who would give up smell before taste hadn’t really thought it through.

Then again, maybe I was the only ten-year-old in my neighborhood whose parents had taught her to cook by scent, giving me a visceral appreciation of how interconnected smell and taste are in the human condition.

Besides, my step-grandfather was blind and got along just fine. I’m not saying losing any sense would be a walk in the park or that I could lose my sight entirely without mourning it. I’m just saying, there’s more to scent than a lot of people seem to realize.

A few days ago, I found a book that reminded me of those late-night Girl Scout camp out and slumber (HA!) party talks. It’s a memoir entitled Season to Taste by Molly Birnbaum.

You see, one day Molly Birnbaum was a recent college graduate working in Chef Tony Maws’ Craigie Street Bistrot in Boston, gaining kitchen experience and saving up some cash before heading off to accept a scholarship to the Culinary Institute of America… and the next a terrible accident while jogging left her in the hospital for weeks with a shredded knee, a pelvis broken in two places, and a head injury that caused her to become anosmic. Her sense of smell was gone, quite possibly forever.

Season to Taste is the story of her recovery from the accident, and how she built a new life for herself when her plans were shattered in one, horrible moment. Along the way, we get the benefit of her research into the science of scent. We also learn some interesting trivia of the anosmic. For instance, Ben Cohen – co-founder of Ben&Jerry’s Ice Cream – is anosmic. It’s because of him that Ben&Jerry’s runs so heavily to chunks of things in the ice cream. You see, he may not taste the subtleties of the flavors due to his inability to smell them, but the chunks make eating the ice cream interesting texturally.

Birnbaum discusses the connections between scent and taste, and between scent and memory.

As I greedily drank in the text, I found something funny happening to me. I became hyper-aware of the scents around me. When I put the book down and went to take a walk around my neighborhood, I couldn’t stop smelling things: freshly cut grass, roses, the exhaust from the cars whizzing by, every aroma seemed more intense.

All of a sudden I stopped dead in my tracks. The house next to where I stood had all the windows thrown open and there wafted from within the most delicious scent of baking. It was something bready, with an intense ribbon of anise seed.

Not only could I taste the anise, in the blink of an eye I was eight again, and watching my father bake Christmas cookies. I could see his ever-present stick of licorice root in his mouth, his hands forming the dough with precision and strength. He was baking a batch of  springerle, dotted with anise seeds, as I knelt on the stool across the countertop from him. I could hear my childish self pleading for a fresh-from-the-oven cookie and hear my father gruffly tease me that I couldn’t have one because ‘we have to save them to throw them out!’

I think I could adjust to a world that is silent or sightless. It would be difficult, and I would mourn my loss. To never see a flower or hear Mr. Twistie sing again would be painful beyond expression. But to lose scent is to lose flavor and memory as well.

I don’t know about you, but I wouldn’t give those up willingly for anything.

Anyway, it’s Tuesday which means it’s time to find out What Miss Plumcake is…

Reading: Letters from My Windmill – Alphonse Daudet. I know I’ve mentioned this charming 1866 collection of short stories before, but I’m doing it again. It’s that perfect combination of sweet and melancholy you’d expect in a French pastoral, with just a little sharpness under the bucolic bliss.

Watching: Titanic Titanic came out the winter of my freshman year in college and you couldn’t go anywhere or do anything without SOMEONE’S heart going on and on about this movie. Feeling a bit nostalgic this week for reasons I’ll mention in a second, I decided to watch this flick for the first time since it came out the theater Gorgeous hats, gorgeous costumes, gorgeous Kate Winslet, terrible, terrible script.

Hearing: Looking Out the Fishbowl by Eddie From Ohio. If my college years had a soundtrack, it would be Eddie from Ohio, a high energy folk outfit that’s half Ani DiFranco, half James Taylor and half some other things I can’t really think of now but maybe have something to do with Lyle Lovett. Looking Out The Fishbowl –incidentally the first piece of swag I ever got from my radio show– is all about newly discovered independence, pretty heady stuff for a girl who had just left home. It features a fantastic song called Fifth of July, about what happens after you’ve declared your independence. Good track and the inspiration for my whole late 90′s throwback week.

Smelling: Axe Body Spray. Okay, hear me out. Remember, it’s throwback week. Before Axe came to the US it was extremely popular with the Dutch. Most importantly one very important Dutch boy, Miss Plumcake’s first true love. Now let me tell you, the boy loved his product, and the scent set forth by his six million styling gels was only enhanced by the liberal application of Axe’s now-discontinued “Inca.”

I don’t know if it actually smelled good or I was just so roofied up on teenage love that I stockholmed myself into liking it, but when I pulled out my copy of Looking Out The Fishbowl I got a big whiff of his cologne and it sent me right back to the spring of 1998 when I was young, in love and probably very, very smelly.

Loving: That my first love turned into Uter from the Simpsons. While we’re ON the subject of that Dutch boy, I can tell you he dropkicked my heart against the treehouse wall something fierce. I was everything he wanted, except for too tall and too fat. HE on the other hand, looked like a taller, blonder version of Leo DiCaprio. I google stalked him a few months ago and discovered to my cloven-hooved glee that my teenage dreamboat has Not Aged Well and although I’m normally against schadenfreude of any kind, I’ll allow myself this one tiny scoop. Okay I’ll take two. They’re small.

Hating: Reality Television. All of it. Except for that show about the alligator hunters. That one can stay. Seriously guys, I just don’t get it. How do you not feel stupid watching reality television? The one exception I’ll make is Swamp People, which I streamed on Netflix when I was in DC. Does that count as reality tv, or is it just a serialized documentary? More importantly, does anyone think that Troy Landry’s son looks like Kevin Spacey, except for, you know, not gay?

Wanting: Pink Grapefruit Mentos. Nowhere. Nowhere to be found. Why must the world be so cruel?

Buying:Very by Pet Shop Boys. So the Dutch boy’s favorite band was Pet Shop Boys. He was like a one man version of “Gay or European?”

So that’s all I’ve got this week, what about you? What’s currently making YOUR heart go on?

Reading: How to Be Good by Nick Hornby I can’t tell you much about this novel so far, but I’ve liked all the other Hornby stuff I’ve read. I’ll let you know when I finish it.

Watching: Dumbo I’m not saying you have to like this movie, what with its racist birds and whatnot, I’m just saying if Baby Mine doesn’t make you cry every damn time you see it, you probably have no soul.

Hearing: 21 by Adele I’m completely bummed because Adele had to cancel her recording of Austin City Limits. Boo and hiss. She’s one of the few actual talents making it big today, and she’s a gorgeous plus-size gal who is working that doe-eye liquid liner for all it’s worth.

Smelling: Muscs Kublai Khan by Christopher Sheldrake for Serge Lutens This is a, uh, divisive fragrance. Perfumistas would call this a “challenging” scent. Apparently it has been described as smelling of “horses, genitalia and horses’ genitalia” but on me it’s a lovely, earthy skin scent that smells exactly like my grandfather after a late night in the study, the combined bouquet of ancient wool cardigans, mad professor hair, sweat and Zest soap. It’s definitely animalic, none of this kinder, gentler “white musk” nonsense, but I spritz it on (just behind the knees, a little goes a long way) whenever I miss him.

Loving: Nathan’s Hot Dogs When I was in DC all I wanted was Mexican food. Now a hot dog makes me go insane. The best dog I’ve ever had was at Austin Land and Cattle where the owner whipped up a Nathan’s hotdog topped with (if I recall correctly) lobster, a soft scrambled egg, cilantro and rooster sauce. I’m not that fancy at home, and know the One True Way to serve a hot dog is with kraut, whole grain spicy mustard and dill relish.

Hating: The fact I can’t get this Battenberg lace dress in my size. If you can find a similar one in plus sizes help a sister out!

Wanting: Pink Elephant Ring from Noir NYC Which came first, Dumbo or the pink elephants? Either way, I want this on my finger with a quickness. Elephants are one of my favorite animals and what more charming way to say you enjoy the odd tipple or twelve than with a big pink elephant cocktail ring?

Buying: MAC Brule eyeshadow. One of the few products I’m never without, I use this under all my eye shadows as a base, particularly when I’m doing looks requiring a lot of blending. I’m not sure how it works, but it makes the look last longer while also making it more easy to blend. Also, there are a lot of dupes out there but this is one where I will accept no substitute.

Well that’s all for me, what’s been shaking YOUR maracas this week?

(now with sales code AND a recipe!)

Reading – Romancero Gitano by Frederico Garcia Lorca. A beautiful collection of poems from Spain’s most famous modern poet. He described his 1928 work as “a carved altar piece of Andalusia with gypsies, horses, archangels, planets, its Jewish and Roman breezes, rivers, crimes, the everyday touch of the smuggler and the celestial note of the naked children of Córdoba. A book that hardly expresses visible Andalusia at all, but where the hidden Andalusia trembles.” Read it in Spanish if you can, but a reputedly excellent bilingual collection of Lorca’s work is available here. If you’re interested in this sort of thing, this is an interesting blog outlining the relationship between Salvador Dali –who is responsible for the portrait of Garcia Lorca above– and the poet.

Watching - Evil Under the Sun. How had I never seen this before? It is early 80′s (possibly unintentional) high camp in all its glory! Diana Rigg and Maggie Smith as bitchy aging chorus girls done good! Roddy McDowell at his screamingest queenie best! Jane Birkin! Hats! Turbans! Turbans UNDER hats with coordinating clip on earrings! Peter Ustinov as Hercule Poirot! Cole Porter soundtrack! I just about died.

Hearing – The Sweetest Thing by U2. My favorite love song and is even nearer and dearer to my heart since going to Ireland. Say what you will about Bono, the boy knows how to apologize. Watch the video here. From now on, I refuse to accept any apologies not accompanied by the cast of Riverdance, an elephant and mostly naked men stripping on a firetruck.

Smelling - Organix Tea Tree Mint Shampoo. Do you want to smell like a Thin Mint? Of course you do. I’m no ‘poo except for the summer, but this sulfate-free stuff smells great and leaves my hair nice and healthy.

Loving – Horchata. Horchata is a creamy refreshing summer drink served throughout the Spanish-speaking world. The Spanish version is made with tiger nuts, but since I wouldn’t know a tiger nut if I stepped on one (and trust me, I’m not about to do that), I make a version of the variety they serve most commonly in Mexico and South America, flavored with rice, almonds and cinnamon. I don’t have a precise recipe, but here’s the gist:

Miss Plumcake’s Horchata:

Bring 2 quarts of water to a boil in a large pot, with a few cinnamon sticks. Remove from heat and add a cup and a half or so of uncooked white rice (do not rinse), give it a good stir, cover it and let it sit at least 5 hours, ideally overnight. In the morning, give it a final stir and strain the rice water into a large pitcher, reserving one cup of liquid and dispose of rice (you could probably do something with the rice, but I don’t eat rice so I don’t know).

In a large microwavable measuring cup or small pot, combine one 14 oz can of sweetened condensed milk and reserved rice water, heating until it has the consistency of fresh milk, then add it to the pitcher of rice water. Add a few drops of natural almond extract if you’d like, then chill. Serve over lots of ice with a few toasted almond slivers if you have it. Sabroso!

Hating - Flaccid Unnecessary Ruffles. Seriously. What is with these things? It’s like every top I see is just dripping with random bits of fabric flotsam. It just looks sloppy and cheap and if I wanted to look sloppy and cheap believe me, I’d be doing it in a much more entertaining way than just wearing stupid ruffles.

Wanting - All Espadrilles All The Time. My affection for the espadrille is well-documented, and especially now that I’m Fake Spanish, they’re pretty much all I want to wear this summer. The Emmah from Calvin Klein scratches my neutral-color, leg-lengthening high wedge itch (to be worn with shorts) and I’ve been wearing my wild Lacroix ones all spring, but really any ‘drilles will do.

Buying – Belted Linen Dress by La Redoute. As I mentioned yesterday, I’m heading down Mexico way for a month for some hot Night of The Iguana action and I’m going to wear mostly white linen. Because when your house comes with a maid, you can wear white linen every day. This dress is easy and versatile, use the belt that comes with it, your favorite scarf, wear it as a dress or a tunic. Whatever. Available in white and navy, you can get it for cheap if you use code OSPCOUPON16 to take 40% off your most expensive item.

Me? I’m grand. The charm offensive I launched against the Mexican family who lives downstairs from my best friend (I’m staying with her while in Virginia) paid off a few days ago when they took pity on the poor displaced Texan and gave me a fajita fix. I’m now rationing out my slices of delicious delicious baby angel meat like cigarettes in jail.

Anyhoodle, it’s Tuesday which means it’s time to find out What Miss Plumcake is…

Reading: Hellraisers: The Inebriated Life and Times of Richard Burton, Peter O’Toole, Richard Harris & Oliver Reed Exactly as good as you think it’d be, from the good old days when people really committed to drunken debauchery.

Watching: Amores Perros (Love’s a Bitch) This is not a happy film, but it’s beautiful, powerful and important. It’s pretty graphic but not gratuitously.

Hearing: Voice from Alison Moyet specifically Dido’s Lament. I have the import version so that’s what I’m linking to, but I’m pretty sure the tracklist is the same on the non-import edition, available here. Haunting.

Smelling: In The Library by Christopher Brosius of CB I Hate Perfume. I’m wearing the water perfume version which I bought as a decant from The Perfumed Court. I haven’t worn scent since I’ve been in Virginia, but I discovered a little vial of this in my bag and gave it a spritz for the sake of novelty. It’s supposed to evoke the scent of –you guessed it– an old library. It’s slightly more theoretical than literal, but if you or your fella loves the scent of old books and bindings, this might be right up your alley.

Loving: This ridiculous/fabulous Betsy Johnson nightie. It’s so Beach Blanket Bingo I could die. I don’t usually do camp, but how can I resist something practically ripped straight from Dawn Davenport’s closet (as played by Divine in John Water’s Female Trouble). Now all I need are cha cha heels!

Hating: