Food

It has been previously documented that I'm a girl who likes her trashy, delicious food stuffs to be as trashy and delicious as possible. You can take the girl out to sushi (and she will be so grateful and love you until the end of time, because she sure likes sushi) but you can't take the love of trashy Americana out of the girl. You know: your cheetos, your mac and cheese, your green bean casserole, your fast and disgustingly delicious food.

I try, I do. I try to cook fresh and healthy. And then into my lap falls, with a satisfying splorch, a new recipe that reaches new heights of trashy and delicious and I am lost, all over again. Helen calls My Dad's (Or Maybe My Grandma's) Sweet-and-Sour Meatballs basse cuisine. I call it kind of digusting in the best way possible. And accidentally, I might have bought ginger ale and ground beef at the grocery store this afternoon.

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