Mondrianyone

I totally agree with this. I just started watching very recently. My husband even likes it. He was complaining recently that all the cooking shows feature nothing but greasy burgers, cheesy pasta, and everything unhealthy. Symon's outdoor show is mostly an exception--and the scenery is really beautiful, too. I covet that garden.

Kitchen Crash. That's coming back? I watched maybe two episodes. It was stupid and boring. FN must be fairly desperate for time-slot fillers. I watched yesterday's The Kitchen this morning. If Sunny is deliberately trying to nudge herself out of a job, she's on the right path. It's already as if she isn't on the show anymore, so if she disappeared utterly, it wouldn't be much of a change. Not that I'd complain. Kardea Brown would be a nice replacement. She actually cooks, which would be an improvement.

Thank you, @RealityCheck! I love potatoes, too, and that recipe is plenty good enough for me. (I probably shouldn't mention that Bobby Flay is my TV husband, so even if it turned out to be a crappy recipe, I'd still be fine with it.)

Well, at least they're aiming high. That's like an aspiring singer trying to be the next Yoko Ono.

Stop me if it seems reality TV has made me cynical to the breaking point, but . . . It occurred to me that it's not inconceivable for production to manufacture a car accident to create a romantic epiphany that justifies Kalani suddenly realizing how much she loves Asuelu and can't live without him. I mean, if it's a crappy, low-value car that's headed for the junkyard anyway and both parties get something out of showing the wreckage (but not the actual accident), how hard would it be to smash it up and take pictures of the aftermath? Not that I think Asuelu is better at driving than he is

Also, some credit-card companies (mine is one) have virtual cards you can use. You download their app, and then when you don't want to input your actual number, you launch the app and they'll issue you a unique card number that's only good for that single transaction, or that single vendor. So no one sees your real card number, but the transaction goes through and appears on your statement as an ordinary purchase.

Given the expectations established by Chuck's kids, that's not really surprising. Andrei is a walking manifestation of the Dunning-Kruger effect. Knows nothing, can do nothing, and bursting with confidence and a sense of his own superiority. They should teach him in Psych 101.

It could be worse. Imagine if they were making babies in bed and playing with their pickles. 🥒

I thought she was already supporting at least one boob.

I had the same reaction. And because I'm neither a psychiatrist nor do I play one on TV, I think I'm qualified to offer a diagnosis. Pure sociopath. You're welcome. 👩‍⚕️

I don't know, because I've been making my own extract with vodka and vanilla beans for so long that I haven't shopped for it. I've been getting sales emails from spice and vanilla merchants for the beans themselves, so I'm pretty sure they're available. You have to be patient if you go that route, though, since it takes a while for the brew to turn into usable extract. I've had to hide the small jar of extract I have left while the next batch is getting ready, because my husband thinks he's entitled to use it in his coffee and leave me nothing to bake with. I'm realizing that I have bakin

Ah, phooey. I had a moment of hope when the title lit up on my homepage. Rats.

The Jackson Pollock At-Home Collection. You'd clean up with it. So to speak. My big concern is, once the pandemic is over, will they make us start wearing a bra again? (The women, I mean.)

The image of that man just breaks my heart. He was obviously trying very hard, and maybe that was the best he could come up with. The polar opposite of the entitled jerks we keep seeing in videos screaming about how this is America, so it abridges their freedom to show even an ounce of concern about other people. I hope someone carrying an extra mask gave it to him.

All it really takes is one. And then I guess these clowns go back home to their wives, who may or may not care if they're cheating, but worse, to their kids. Who we now know aren't immune to this. So . . . good luck.