Cherry Clafoutis

I just want to preface this post by saying I did not care for this clafoutis. This was the first time I tried clafoutis, and it tasted really, really eggy to me. That is not surprising, because it’s filled with eggs. But since I’ve never tried clafoutis before, I’m not sure it was supposed to taste like that. It’s like a mildly sweet oven omelet, and it wasn’t my bag. I also dislike saying “clafoutis.” I wasn’t going to share it with you, but I have not been feeling super great since we got back from Italy, and I haven’t had time to make anything new. Besides, I kind of like the way it looks. Desserts in skillets always look fantastic.

This post is going to be some random thoughts strung together because, again, I have not been feeling well and I don’t think I can manage to string together paragraphs in a way that makes sense. Just think of this as a casual conversation between you and me. We’re friends. You know I’m tired and I am not making a lot of sense. You’re cool with it. Because friends let friends ramble.

I saw American Hustle this weekend, starring my boyfriend, Christian Bale, and my girlfriend, Jennifer Lawrence. It was pretty hilarious, which I wasn’t expecting. And it’s a con movie. If there’s one thing you should know about me, it’s that I love a long con. The Sting, Catch Me If You Can, The Usual Suspects… The Departed? Do those all count as long cons? Because I love all of those movies. I should have been a con woman. I would get caught immediately. I’m a terrible liar.

Jhumpa Lahiri? Awesome. I was supposed to read her new book The Lowlands for the book club this month, but things happen and I only read about 15 pages. I swear I’ll finish this one.

My husband and I are in the middle of a co-op level in Splinter Cell: Conviction. I don’t know what it is about this particular Splinter Cell, but I find it so much more difficult than the previous games. Especially the co-op mode. I normally prefer when I can do the game pretty stealthily, but it seems like this game doesn’t lend itself to stealth as much. We put it down about a year ago because I get violently angry at my husband for not following my orders when our lives are at stake. We resumed this evening, and I am still screaming obscenities at the TV. Some things never change.

Phillip told me this morning that making an oat and peanut butter smoothie is a worse idea than naming your kid “Dalmatian.” I disagree, but I’ve never met a kid named Dalmatian. Maybe that’s an okay name to have. I think that smoothie sounds pretty good, and I’ll probably make it tomorrow for breakfast.