toasted marshmallow milkshake

toasted marshmallow milkshake

Almost exactly 5 years ago, in celebration us both signing contracts to write cookbooks, I met a friend* for lunch at a burger joint called The Stand on East 12th Street, and we finished the meal with something the menu declared a toasted marshmallow milkshake. I don’t remember a thing about the burger, but I do know that pretty much every conversation I had in the weeks that followed went like this: “The weather is so nice today!” “It would be perfect for a toasted marshmallow milkshake, don’t you think?” “How is your son sleeping these days?” “Did I tell you about this toasted marshmallow milkshake I had? Let me tell you about this toasted marshmallow milkshake I had.” “Can you believe this Deepwater Horizon mess?” “Toasted marshmallow milkshake, toasted marshmallow milkshake toasted marshmallow milkshake.” You could argue it had some impact on me.

ice cream, vanilla bean, marshmallows, sour cream, milk
broiled marshmallows

I don’t know what happened after that. Maybe I didn’t get much sleep that year? Maybe I was busy writing a book? Maybe I was scared I couldn’t be trusted around a blender full of toasted marshmallow milkshake because things like this happen? All I know is that I failed you, failed to pave the milkshake’s path from 12th Street to your blender and now, as we approach ice cream season once again, it’s time to make things right.

everything into the blender

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5 Things I’ve Learned About Cooking for My Picky Husband — Love in the Kitchen

“Wow, you are so lucky!”

That’s the first thing everyone says to my husband, Dan, when they find out he’s married to a food writer. (The second thing they say: “How do you not weigh 500 pounds?”) Little do they know — while I get a thrill from digging into homemade bucatini with lamb Bolognese, Dan would be just as happy (if not happier) if I set a bowl of plain buttered egg noodles in front of him.

Yes, in a rom-com-style twist of fate, the food writer married a picky eater. And after 14 years of sharing our lives, I’ve come to terms with the fact that he’s probably never going to split a lobster roll with me, but that doesn’t mean I love him any less. Here’s how we both stay happy and well-fed.

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