Don’t you dare feel sorry for me!

I think I’ll get t-shirt proclaiming that exact sentiment.

Sure I broke my jaw. Sure my mouth is wired shut. Sure I can’t eat “real” food. And yes it is true that eating is a recreational activity to me. And it’s also true that my days stretch out long, dull and formless now that my muse has flown the coop.

But you really, gotta draw the line somewhere. Here is what I mean:

We are going to the Hollywood Bowl tomorrow with friends to see Ray LaMontagne – that folk, soul, rock genius from Maine! I predict a very special evening.

We have a tradition at the bowl. A long and glorious tradition. I make the dinner and whomever we invite to share our box with us brings wine and dessert.

All of our friends know these “rules”.

I have cookie envy.

I have suffered from this neurosis for years. I thought my only recourse was to suffer silently and wait for any opportunity to get on the I-5 and drive the 191.44 miles north to The Harris Ranch Restaurant in Coalinga, CA.

Which may sound a little extreme. But I have done it before.

What sort of cookie deserves this sort of mecca?

Well, a delicious cookie of course, with the unassuming name of The Harris Ranch Pecan Drop Cookie. But the name is the only thing uninspired about this culinary marvel.

Let’s start with texture. They are crackly on the edges. There are lots of bits of crunchy pecans to provide a counterpoint to my favorite thing about this cookie. And that is the sticky chewy interior.

This thing tastes like a very, very, very good pecan pie; but somehow better than a pecan pie. It’s oh so buttery, but contains no butter.

This cookie is so good that it will change your life. It is the sole reason I don’t bake cookies at home very often. I mean what’s the point if the benchmark waits nearly 200 miles north, mocking whatever paltry replacement comes out of my oven.

I’ll say it this way, as simply as I can. 'Cuz that's how Lou Grant once said it.

“I cherish you people”.

I started this blog on November 21, 2008. Before that I never knowingly read a blog before. I had an "intellectual understanding" about what a blog was. But I remember thinking how could anyone really care that much about another person’s yammering. I remember thinking “how can I ever know if you have any idea what you are talking about?”

Well, I have done a one-eighty in these past 5 months. I now look to bloggers for inspiration! I look forward to reading your yammerings.

One of these inspirational moments came from an Award Winning Irish Food Blogger named The Daily Spud. She recently posted a marvelously simple rhubarb compote/stewed rhubarb recipe. Her joy and love for this recipe came shining through.

I made some lame comment about having never eaten rhubarb but having an "intellectual understanding” of what rhubarb was. I am the worst commenter. I actually am a better lurker. But still, sometimes you gotta support the bloggers you love.

So these past few weeks I have had rhubarb in the back of my mind. I am not the kind of person who is happy having an “intellectual understanding” of food. I am surprised she still speaks to me.

There is only one way to reconcile the heavy burden I carry over my rhubarb remarks and the high standards to which I try to hold SippitySup.

I collect recipes. I borrow them. I beg for them. I have even stolen them. (watch video)

Friends are mostly very tolerant of my habits in this regard. In fact when I heard about my friend Andrew's Flourless, Butterless Orange-Almond Torte I marched right over there. I just knew it was a recipe bound for my collection. He was nice enough let me interview (and film) him while he made it too. So I have a nice video presentation for you this week. Aren’t friends the best? luv you Andrew! This is also my entry in the TumYumTreats and My Diverse Kitchen Food in Colors event.

There’s only one small problem, this video sorta makes me seem like a food obsessed food fanatic. Which just can’t be (entirely) true. I also like to travel, well at least to countries known for their cuisine...

But food fanatics, I know something about. I have a friend, she lives, talks, eats and breaths food.

She has a depth of knowledge on the subject that is staggering. I have been out to eat with her on countless occasions. She is an amazing dining companion. She does not speak French, Castilian or Mandarin, but has no trouble navigating a menu in any of these languages and plenty of others. Chefs ALWAYS seek her out. They bring a little bag for her to take home. Something on the sly...just for her.

She remembers the first time she had pancetta and repeats the story often. It makes me laugh every time.