sausage balls + an ode to paula deen

absence makes the heart grow fonder.

b + s just moved in together, and in the frenzy of their lovey dovey bliss, decided to throw a combination housewarming and christmas party on saturday night. my attendance was requested, required, and absolutely wholeheartedly given, despite the fact that i'd spent 8 hours at IIN class and would be spending another 8 hours the next day in the same situ. sitting, sans caffeine, in a cavernous auditorium listening to and trying to assimilate the benefits of various diets as proclaimed by their impassioned advocates is exhausting. (the vegan was all to thin for my tastes. i so wanted to invite him over for some meatloaf with gravy.) i was, i thought, to be too pooped to participate.

nah.

amazing what a little green eyeshadow and a festive plaid mini with jingle bells on the hem can do for a girl. instant holiday cheer! just add green glitter! (everyone on the subway thinks you're an absolute loon, but i've discovered how to deal with the attention: put on your ipod fullblast and move through the car with absolute confidence. you can't hear the jingles, thereby making it so much easier to ignore them and your co-straphangers' envious stares.)

i was revived. thank heavens i made the trip - b. made paula deen's sausage balls just for me!

why? he knows how much i love that jolly woman.

when i was sick and hacking on my couch, i did almost nothing but watch Food TV. it was then that cupid struck. i even found myself seriously considering buying her set of 8 dvds for $99.99, but thought better of it after the nyquil wore off. other things were more pressing...rent, for one.

paula, paula, paula...oh, heavens. she is 100% pure southern lady. she does her hair. lipstick is not an option, but a necessity. every recipe requires a cup of mayo, and a cup of butter, and a cup (at least) of sugar. this makes some people nauseous, but i adore her unabashed extravagance and indulgence. her toffee cackle-giggle makes me want to spend the rest of my life in her Savannah kitchen, mouth agape, like a pink, featherless baby bird, squawking for her down home looooove. i'd just sit at her counter, and let her feed me and fatten me and call me "darlin." how could i do anything but just melt into her floor like pecan (pronounced PEE-kan, please) praline?

i'm tempted to write her a letter asking her to adopt me - if only for the holidays. i couldn't do it forever, but i could fake the Southern Belle thing for that long. i'd even roll my hair. 'course, after about 3 weeks, 3 pounds of mayo, butter, and sugar, that vegan diet might seem like pretty good idea.