I don’t fucking bake, here is video evidence why…
Sure I probably alienated 92% of my readers and am probably going to be sued by Ina Garten (Jeffrey call me) but the turnovers turned out delicious and at least I could use this video as evidence for any future bipolar diagnosis. Bon appétit bitches!
I am so fucking bloated. Pretty sure that will be acknowledged on my tombstone because I wouldn’t want the embalmer to judge me on my seemingly slender frame and surprise bloated midsection. Healthy digestion has never been my thing. Maybe it’s the 45 lbs of cheese I consume weekly or my liking towards public restrooms that makes going to the bathroom so very stressful.
Because of my ailment, every once in a while I have to lighten my load and guide myself into salvation with a laxative like meal. Last night, I was feelling particularly with (food) child so I knew it was time to bust out my tried and true roasted tomato soup. It’s fast, easy, healthy and will have you blissfully shitting in no time…
- Crate of grape/cherry tomatoes
- 1 lb of chicken broth (vegetable broth works if you are a loser vegan)
- Fresh basil
- 1 white onion diced
- 8 cloves of garlic chopped
- Crushed red pepper
- Olive oil
Preheat oven to 375. Put tomatoes in baking dish, toss with olive oil, salt and pepper. Roast for an hour or until they burst open and get golden. In pot sautee onions and garlic until translucent. Add tomatoes to pot, add crushed red pepper, chicken broth and let simmer. For smoother soup, pulse in blender and re-simmer. Top with fresh basil! **If you are looking to further constipate yourself add parmesan or ricotta to make it creamy and serve with side salad and a down home grilled cheese sandwich.
It’s Memorial Day and that means paying respect to our troops who defend our country and keep us safe … and day drinking #AMERICA. If you are like me and like to be asleep by 8:30pm, getting your drink on begins at 11am. Nothing says good morning like a fruity and frisky bellini. With fresh peaches and juice, it’s basically a fucking smoothie.
- Orange or Grapefruit Juice
- Champagne (or Prosecco)
Directions: Puree fresh diced peaches in a blender with dash of juice, blend until smooth and then strain to get rid of any chunks/skin (gross). Let chill then add one healthy spoonful to bottom of Champagne flute and top with the good stuff. Garnish with fruit and mint. Cheers bitch!
Pardon my serious eye bags, I was trying to stay approachable by going bare faced.
Baking is just not my fucking thing. Neither is going make-up free on camera. Consider both of things the first and last time either will be documented. Happy Friday.
Oh hai. I have been feeling super rustic lately. First, I bought mason jars. Then yesterday I found myself starting a fucking her garden… the legal kind. Sure it will be nice to have a fresh sprig of thyme to jazz up a roasted chicken but what I am MOST excited about is incorporating my homegrown garnishes to use in my cocktails. The first to sprout (gardening lingo) was my lavender BUSH. Am I the only adult who can’t use the word bush seriously? Since I am partial to a dirty martini, last night I got experimental with my new foliage and concocted this DELISH lavender martini I had to share with muh bitches.
WHAT YOU NEED:
Vodka (Gin works too)
Juice of a lemon
Lavender syrup (to make boil equal parts sugar and water with a few sprigs of lavender)
To serve: Let syrup chill. Rim martini glass (or if you are a dirty hipster MASON JAR) with lemon juice and dip in sugar. To a cocktail shaker add 1.5 oz (or more) of vodka, juice of a lemon, tablespoon of simple syrup and ice. Shake like a polaroid picture and serve.
You’re welcome. Cheers!
I am sure this comes as no surprise to most of you bitches but it should be said. I live for a good cocktail. I am not the girl ralphing in my purse or flashing my vagina on the sidewalk… I drink like a fucking lady. I have always said I missed my calling as a pretentious bartender so I like to live that dream in the privacy of my own home.
I am someone who is plagued with neurosis and a routine lifestyle so it is rare that I stray from my usual vodka martini. Last weekend something truly terrible happened… I ran out of fucking martini olives. There I sat alone, watching Stepmom, sans my go-to libation and I have never felt so alone. Sure I could have gone to the market but then I would have had to move so obviously that was a no-go. Sobriety clearly was NOT an option – have you seen Stepmom? Susan Sarandon practically gutted me alive.
Being the free spirit that I am I decided to concoct a new drink that has since been blowing my fucking mind. I call it my “Basil Bitch Delight”, first you need the following…
- Lime or Lemon juice
- Simple syrup (agave nectar works too)
- Club soda.
- Vodka (Gin works too)
- Ice ice baby.
To make simple syrup boil equal parts water and sugar, to make it fancy add a lime peel and some basil. Make sure you let syrup cool before adding to your drink or you will fuck everything up.
Add ice, shot of vodka (or 2), juice of one lime, teaspoon of simple syrup (more if you like it sweet) and basil leaves to a shaker. Shake that shit like a Polaroid picture and pour into short tumbler or strain into martini glass, top with club soda and get your garnish on bitch. Drink happy.
I was going to do a VMA recap but… I don’t fucking feel like it. Recaps are so annoying. I will say Ariana Grande is too talented to keep dressing like the spokesperson for Wet Seal lingerie, Taylor Swift moves like a limp green bean with a minor case of cerebral palsy (although Shake it Off is my jam) and Yonce is STILL on my mouth like liquor…. Every female in the music industry should be EMBARASSED #queenbey.
If you don’t follow me on Instagram you are really missing out… I am like the Martin Scorcese of fucky 15 second instavids (@jackieschimmel #plug). Yesterday, continuing my pain in the ass world tour – vacation edition, I was lusting for a poolside pina colada in a big way. It is rare I have these fruity cocktail cravings since the only thing I drink is dirty martinis. Until yesterday I had been convinced a “Phil Collins” was just a super popular gin drink… awkward. Now I eat like a diabetic truck driver but I WILL turn down for liquid calories. 500 calories for one fucking drink? No thanks, I would rather have a burger. I have to keep my shit together, I have my television debut in a few weeks (I will be on Watch What Happens Live on Bravo 9/14 #doubleplug) and have no intention of doing any type of exercise. One of my cocktail making tricks is the importance of a good shaker. I make ALL my drinks in a shaker, it’s like an irresponsible arm work out. Another trick is swapping out ice cubes (which tend to dilute the happy juice) for fresh fruit popsicle chunks. I don’t mean loading up your drink with some syrupy bullshit – I am talking either real frozen fruit or some 100% juice popsicles. My faves are a watermelon mint popsicle (48 mutha fuckin calories) found at specialty markets and coconut water fruit floes from Trader Joes (perfect for this recipe). Here is my super easy Skinny Bitch Pina Colada recipe that will not result in a muffin top or a hangover.
This is hands down the most awkward video of all time. Bottoms up bitches.
I am not going to sit here and go on and on how I get a huge hipster boner for fresh summer produce and flourishing farmer markets. I don’t bring my own bags to the supermarket, wear gladiator sandals and a farmers hat to peruse locally sourced eggplant and insincerely grope lemons for 35 minutes to find one that is “just right”. That is just not me.
I do however enjoy the free samples and imported cheese selection at MY local farmer’s market so once in a blue moon I stray from my usual Gelson’s or Bristol Farms and head to roam amongst the granola crew. When I am cooking a meal my main focus is presentation, easy ingredients (inexpensive doesn’t hurt either) and obviously yummy. I really hate the word yummy and apologize for using it so carelessly. As I wandered the aisles of fresh fruits and hemp accessories I was inspired to make a dinner solely using ingredients bought at the farmer’s market (and by inspired I mean I was running low on gas and felt too lazy to stop at another store).
I got seduced by an Israeli man with more herbs than Whoopi Goldberg so I got swindled into buying almost everything under the sun. Basil, dill, italian parsley, green onions, rosemary, you name it. I tried to incorporate all of these into my dinner. I decided to make lavender lemon martini’s, a burrata caprese salad, herb salmon and grilled peaches with vanilla ice cream. It was a total stomach boner if I do say so myself and so colorful!
Lavender Cocktail – lemon juice, simple syrup (equal parts sugar and water boiled) infused with fresh lavender, vodka. Add to shaker with ice, shake, serve and sip responsibly… or don’t no judgements.
Caprese Salad – burrata cheese (buffalo mozzarella works too), heirloom tomatoes, basil, olive oil, balsamic vinegar (or glaze). Slice and layer, top with oil and vinegar, salt and pepper.
Herb Salmon – salmon filet(s), lemon, fresh italian parsley, dill, green onion and whatever else you have. Coat salmon in olive oil, lemon juice, salt and pepper and top with chopped herbs. Drizzle more olive oil over herbs so they don’t burn. Bake in 375 degree oven for 15-20 minutes.
Grilled Peaches with Vanilla Ice Cream – peaches, honey, vegetable oil, vanilla ice cream, mint (I used basil instead). Brush peaches with oil and grill until soft with pretty grill marks, top with vanilla ice cream (after peaches have cooled) drizzle with honey (optional) and garnish with mint.
Bon Appétit bitches.
Yesterday I spent 4 hours watching that fat ass Ina Garten waddle around her Hamptons humble abode and make all of her “effortlessly chic” meals. I will admit Barefoot Cuntessa is my fave cooking show and I genuinely enjoy her recipes and pretentious demeanor. What I can’t deal with is how many times she says the word “decadent”, her plump fingers finagling raw meat and her over sized polo shirts. She tries to overplay the whole rustic lifestyle, it’s like bitch you live in waterfront mansion with a closeted homosexual husband. Also, Matilda called and wants her hairstyle back. Ina pretends all of her recipes appeal to the everyday woman when in reality 96% of them include ingredients you sure as fuck won’t find at your neighborhood Vons.”It’s a super simple desert classic the kids will love. All you need is a imported French macaroon press, a mechanical sifter, locally sourced quail eggs, cashew milk and edible 14 karat gold sprinkles!” Seriously Ina? Go fuck yourself. Every time she goes to her specialty seafood shop or exotic cheese store you can just feel the sexual tension. She is obviously exchanging fellatio for a prime sea bass or the perfectly pungent brie cheese.
You may think I being too harsh to the Barefoot Cuntessa and your probably right. But in hopes of excusing my behavior you may want to take a peek at this. So nasty and so rude (Real Housewives reference…)
So after hours of watching Ina blow a cheese specialist, wrap centerpieces in burlap and skillfully trying to differentiate her wrist from her forearm I decided to give one of her recipes a go. Last time this year I was gallivanting in Paris with a beret and a permanent bottle of champs in my hand so naturally when I saw my bitch whooping this French dish up, I thought it would be perfect to make. I subbed out many of Ina’s faaaaaabulous ingredients for more accessible items you prob already have in the kitchen and added some special bitchy touches cause I am super considerate and down to earth…
- 2 cups of white wine
- 1 medium sized shallot
- 5 cloves of garlic
- Bunch of Italian parsley
- 4 tablespoons of butter
- 1 lb of mussels
- 1 lemon (zested)
- Crushed red pepper, S+P
- Olive oil (#duh)
- 5 russet potatoes
– Preheat oven to 420 degrees.
– Slice potatoes into fry like strips
– Toss with olive oil, s+p
– Bake until golden brown, top with parmesan
– Mince garlic and shallots. Add to pot with olive oil, butter, dash of s+p, double dash of crushed red pepper (more if you’re a spicy bitch) sauté for a couple minutes.
– Add alcohol, turn up the heat and let reduce for few minutes.
– Add mussels. Cover and let cook on higher heat for 5 minutes or until all of the mussels have opened up (toss the ones that don’t)
– Top with chopped parsley and lemon zest. Serve with frites and your fave cocktail.
I have been plagued my entire life with the Jon Benet Ramsey at home blowdry. Too soon? Get over it. Due to my hair being extremely course, frizzy and unpredictable being able to tame the beast myself has literally not been an option. I convinced my parents at a young age that weekly blowdrys would be more fiscally responsible then paying for years of therapy later when I need to heal from the emotional damage of being bullied for my jew do during adolescence. Needless to say I have been totally enabled and subsequently cannot do my own fucking hair. Last night post happy hour I decided it was time to make matters into my own hands and give this brillo pad erupting from my scalp a lesson… So I went and bought hot rollers. Here is how that all went down…
Yesterday Jesus was resurrected which really got me thinking. Firstly I am super confused by the tie in to Jesus being reborn and creepy adults dressing as a large bunny and hiding eggs filled with store brand jelly beans and chocolate for small children to wander around a park and seek for their treats. It all seems a bit rapey to me. Like “come hither kids, get your baskets and go search around this public park and look for my colored eggs filled with candy!”. It all just sounds like a hug Megan’s law opportunity, I am sure I will get major hate mail for saying that. Another thing… do bunny’s even fucking lay eggs? I spent about 4 hours trying to find the correlation between Jesus, bunny’s, chocolate and eggs and ended up in a very weird place so I had to move on for my own mental sanity. Being a jew, I never argue with free food so I am just going to go with it… I also kind of lose my shit for those marshmallow Peeps so I digress. During any religious holiday I always try and reflect and figure out things I really believe in and shit that makes me well… me.
If this conversation was getting too deep for you don’t worry I haven’t been keeping up with current events or reading any good books lately… I am getting back on track. Last night as I lay in bed after shoveling ham and baked beans down my throat at my boyfriend’s family Easter party I started to think about some founding principles I choose to live by. For example; More is more. The Easter Bunny has his creepy bowtie and colorful eggs, Jesus had a chic caftan and seriously seductive loin cloth situation and this Bitch likes to be dripping in sparkle. Ever since I had a wrist large enough to shove a bangle onto I have been collecting jewelry and slowly embezzling from my mother to add to my collection. When I was 6 I got the boot from my AYSO soccer team because the coach had asked me to take off my jewelry for games. How fucking rude. How else was I supposed to get a Gatorade or Nike endorsement deal without showcasing my personal style on the field? Obviously my hand eye coordination wasn’t setting me up to be fucking Mia Hamm but at least I could be well accessorized so I could troll for the next David Beckham during halftime.
I have been pillaging antique stores, flea markets, family heirlooms and personal purchases since I could walk, talk and swipe. Accessories can make a white jeans and t-shirt look from boring to bling bling. My rules to accessorizing is no rules. Here are some of my favorite sparkle I have collected over my quarter century on earth.
Anyone else have a total sparkle boner. I have been fortunate enough to inherit some beautiful pieces from relatives and one very loving boyfriend but many of these pieces I have scavenged all over the place. Like I have always said… if it sparkles, Baby likey. I try to mix metals, price points, stones and styles like a mother fucker and always feel a bit more fabulous with some sparkle.
We know Coco Chanel always said to remove one piece of jewelry before you leave the house…but c’mon. This bitch loves bling. XO
I have never felt this uncomfortable writing any post… ever. I have made it public knowledge that I am not a huge fan of exercise. I simply refuse to go to gym, wish I had the discipline for a small stint of anorexia and literally don’t trust people who say they LOVE to exercise. You know what I love? Eating without consequences.
Last week I got a call from my new PR Fairy Godmother, she prefers to remain anonymous probably because she is embarassed to be affiliated with me. She let me know that since I impulsively decided to change the name of my budding “brand” I would need to do a promotional photo shoot that was more theme appropriate for marketing purposes. I know most of you are probably rolling your eyes and gagging trying to keep your granola down. I know boo-fucking-hoo I have a photoshoot. My sentiments exactly. Despite being maybe the biggest ham of all time, photoshoots are my fucking nightmare. Not only do they force me to accept the fact that my face is not as symmetrical as I would hope and I am not nearly as photogenic as my mother has told me I am. My PR princess (you’re welcome) explained the more risque concept of the “campaign” #ew – then casually threw in that I may want to meet with a trainer to get in best shape possible for the photoshoot…which is basically her nice way of saying tighten your shit so we don’t have to pay extra for photo shop, so someone will want to manage you full time and we wont have to stuff you into the clothing like a sausage you FAT BITCH WHORE. Ummm, Baby doesn’t like when people tell her what to do. This is all way too much pressure. Branding? Marketing? EXERCISE? #wordsthatgivemeanxiety. Everyone knows I am a stress eater, what kind of sick joke is this?
After doing some serious soul searching I decided that if people were going to believe in me, I had to believe in myself and find the willpower within to try and follow some form of exercise regimen. Let me be clear I have ZERO intention of changing my diet and/or alcohol consumption. I have vowed to do light weightlifting in the mornings. Take the stairs instead of the elevator and maybe through in a few lunges while I wait in line for my 3 o’clock mocha frappucino. Yesterday I called up my favorite anorexic/workout-aholic friend who’s main food source is ice chips, diet coke, celery and a boiled chicken breast on cheat days to see what exercise regimen would work for me. “Are you seriously going to start exercise? Are you fucking high?” Well that is encouraging. “Try Tracy Anderson. She is the best, she does all the hottest skinny bitches in Hollywood. I went to her class a couple months ago and couldn’t move for days, you should definitely do the arm workout” Um… what the fuck is that supposed to mean? Clearly taking the hint I decided to find the arm workout online and give this shit a go. Because I am a giver with no boundaries or shame I decided to document the experience for your viewing pleasure and my personal shame.
I will be keeping a video journal of my unpaved road to fitness. Please help a bitch out and tweet/comment tips.
When fall/winter comes around I know most people lose their shit for layering, scarves, beanies, boots, tights and all that boring shit. I figure I only have this svelte for another year or 2 sans exercise so nothing about me gets excited to swaddle myself up in excess fabric. If I wanted to add extra bulk to my frame I would go engorge myself with double-double cheeseburgers not lose my shit for a fucking infinity scarf. I prefer a bare leg to a hosed leg, prefer an exposed décolleté to a rashy neck as a result of some sickly H&M polyester blend scarf and overall think layering is for people with things to hide. What can I say? Winter clothing aint my jam. When Springtime rolls around I am one happy camper. The pollen in the air irritates my eyes which gives them a super glassy green look and the rising temperature lets me bust out my labia skimming hemlines, colors, prints and sparkle. So say farewell to your tired black leggings, adios to the combat boots and a big fuck off to your black wool coat cause its Springtime bitches. Here are some Springy looks I have been oogling recently… and yes I hate myself for just using the word “oogling”. (Click for full size)
For info on where to get these Spring-alicious looks comment below! XO