The Bachelor, Ben Flajnik, sent Chicago girl Elyse Myers packing tonight. It happens. I have (almost) nothing to say about it other than these two things: 1) “What did I do wrong” is “the wrong.” Going there, blaming ourselves for “over,” is our single biggest mistake when we’re rejected; 2) Boca, all of Boca Raton, FL—aside from those with oxygen tanks—looks like this:

Sorry, but it’s true. I’m only 7 months in, and even at this point, I’m also sorry to say, it’s nauseating to look at her, to look at all the “hers”in Boca. Why? Seriously, what is it that’s such a turn off to me? She’s only 24, but she looks like a cougar. I actually feel terrible saying it because I’m sure she’s a lovely person and I don’t mean to take Florida out on the poor girl. But this is mostly what I meet here in Boca. What is it about her that screams Boca, and not, for example, LA? Perhaps it’s not just her photo here, but something else about her on The Bachelor? I doubt it though. When I see the overly tan brunette I think of Boca and half of Turtle Bay apartments in NY (Midtown, East Side – recent grads from Delaware and Syracuse).

At least we have phenomenal  weather. Seriously, to be wearing flip-flops and tanks in January is heavenly. Just dreamy. I don’t like the sun and prefer rainy days, but not having my snot freeze is such a joy. By the way, this is me trying to do positive.

Breakfast bread puddings. At least, that’s what Phil’s taken to calling them because he’s wholeheartedly against my calling it “French Toast Casserole.” Casserole, quite simply, is an ugly middle-America word that conjures up images of upturned gelatinous soups, chicken legs, and overcooked egg noodles. Basically cellulite but with more structure. “Besides, French toast is crunchy on the outside.” Yes, it’s pan-fried in oil, and you need a plateful of paper towels at the ready. My “Breakfast Pudding Bake” deserves no towels, no plates at the ready. I can bake a tray of it on the weekend, serve some, then divvy up portions for the rest of the week-freezing two servings at a time. Also, it’s not all about the kids. It’s perfect to have at the ready for when guests pop in. Not that I ever have unexpected guests, but I like to think that I live in a kitchen that can accommodate extraordinary circumstances, from hurricanes to hangovers. Wrapped in foil, from freezer to toaster oven, in five miles minutes, they have a puffy, eggy, soft breakfast pudding worthy of childhood comfort and memories. Sometimes you make a meal and you just know ”This is what they’ll remember when they’re older.” Hell, it’s what I’ll remember when I’m older.

MAKEUP
Makeup brushes, what each one is used for, makeup tutorials, creative Mac shadow combinations, new fall nail polish colors: Nars Galion, Chanel Paradoxal, and Deborah Lippman Fashion (near dupe: Essie Brooch The Subject). I am wholly engaged with reading up on makeup dupes. There are sites out there that will actually tell you the duplicate Wet an Wild color for a Mac color. That kind of thing. Now, I’m obsessed with having every single non neon color Mac makes. Just to have it, if I should need it, after watching some makeup tutorial on YouTube that will give me the perfect Kardashian eye.

PERFUME
I’ve been complimented on my latest perfume purchase exactly five times in the past two days. Sharing the name of this perfume is like revealing that I watch The Bachelor. But, I do. So, here it is. The perfume I love to love and hate and love: Boyfriend by Kate Walsh. Go ahead, hate me. I’m used to it.

DINNERS
Do ahead Dinners. “Dream Dinners” and freeze ahead meals, wanting to have dinner party meals in moments. I’m obsessed with Dore Greenspan’s At My French Table, and I can’t understand how she doesn’t weigh more than the Arc D’ Triumph. Two dishes I’m making this week, “Pumpkin stuffed with everything Good” and ‘Chicken, apples, and cream a la Normande.”

STICKY RICE
Another obsession of mine: my coconut sticky rice. It is insane. My mother made us rice pudding with “the wooden spoon.” I make this instead. You need the right rice and methods, timing, and planning, soaking rice in a bowl overnight

Another obsession: PHO. Where in South Florida does a girl get her hands on some authentic Pho?

Today I’m making a “Zero points” Watchers Points Plus soup with Chinese cabbage, bok choy, bean sprouts, water chestnuts, bamboo shoots, cilantro and lime. Add a protein on top, from egg to nuts to chicken or beef, long slippery noodles for the kids.

This week, I also baked a Derby Pie. Because I want to be Southern like that.

I want to look up Nora Ephron plays. There’s a play she said she wrote but that wasn’t published.
I want to read it. Speaking of my imaginary best friend—this morning we spoke about Teflon and anti-egg white omelets. I love her more and more each time we talk. Thankfully she feels the same way, so there’s no awkward friendship chase. What can I say? Nora Ephron and I are total besties, especially considering how much we both despise that word.

I am obsessed with crustless pumpkin pie. I just devoured the center, the entire filling, using only my finger. Right now I’m staring at the remaining pie shell wondering if I should bake something new into it, call it “Double Unsanitary Pie.” I bet I could make a fast filling with my vita-mix.

I have to get over these cedar fever allergies I picked up when I was back in Austin. It’s strange, although I’m here in Florida now, this week, today, I still feel like I’m in Austin, still think when I get in my car, I can jet over to Central Market, that I can still call friends at the very last minute with a text inviting them to meet me for drinks and a movie in fifteen minutes at Alamo Drafthouse.

What I miss most about Austin are the people. They’re all so different, unique, easy. If however, I grew up in Texas, I’d probably prefer different, wouldn’t much mind living in Boca Raton, where people dress to be seen. I dress to keep my food down. The homogeneousness is killing me… almost in a good way though, because now I’m motivated to get back to work.

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My Facebook Status: Aside from a limited point of view and attitude problem, what should I bring with me from Boca Raton, FL when I visit Austin, TX this week?

I’m heading to Austin, TX on Monday. I’ll put it right out there. I’m homesick for my Texan friends, the queso, and the Neiman Marcus Last Call. And the meat. There’s nothing like Lockhart, TX BBQ. Nothing. Puts the Salt Lick to shame. As for this Last Call business, I’ll put it to you this way. You try shopping for short ribs “plate” flanken during Passover in Boca Raton (or New York), and you’ve got to sell your goods to the butcher (or at least shake ‘em). You’ve got to wheel and deal, hand over fist, insert whatever you need to, to get out of that store with raw meat wrapped in white butcher paper. Everyone wants it.

You try to get short ribs cut across the bone in Texas? Have at it, ma’am. No one wants it, knows from it, cares. Have your pick.

Hello Neiman Marcus Last Call in Austin. Nothing has been picked over. There are no scraps. You are left only with prime deals at the best prices. In Boca? You will elbow an old woman in the breast if she stands between you and that one and only pair of Vera Wang Lavender Label flats with the chunky sparkled toe, marked at twice the price you’ll find in Austin. So, yes, I will be defiling the store first thing Tuesday morning. The rest of the week, I will be eating, seeing movies, sitting on my friends’ laps and loving up on every last one of them.

I really didn’t know how much I adored Austin until I moved to Boca. Best comparison I know how to make? You sit at a bar in Austin, at the country club, let’s say, and the women (45+) will adopt you. Seriously, they will. Sit at a bar in Boca, at the country club, let’s say, and the women (32+) will ignore you. Except if you smile first. Then, they won’t know what the fcuk to do. Because who just smiles at a stranger?

Do not misread me. I have made some truly wonderful friends here in South Florida. Very real, funny women, who’ve been welcoming and uncharacteristically warm. But, they are not the norm. I have plenty more to say on the matter, but it’s too much venom to slip into a single blog.

So, I leave you with this. If you were heading to Austin, what would you want to do with your week? Hell, if you were heading anywhere? I’m making (and sharing) my to-do list later. And, no, it’s not lost on me that there’s life outside of Neiman Marcus and country clubs. It’s not a life worth living, but it’s a life.

For a short while, calories and a frozen treat weren’t my only focus. I was there for the ride. The drive itself is an exercise in imagination. It’s the kind of road that feeds dreams. It was a balm for our overtired bodies and underworked minds. It’s not that there’s a canopy of trees, no; there’s a tunnel of Australian pines and Cuban laurels that stretch long enough for you to stop and think, “Why do the trees know to curve toward each other like that?”

In the back of my grandfather’s car, Lea and I would call dibs on the mansions. “That one’s mine!” Much the way we did with everything, though with years we twisted dibs into damnation. Of the flatulent Boss Hogg doppelganger, “There’s your boyfriend.”

“Too bad your boyfriend is that guy,” she’d say, cursing me with a man whom, upon first sight, made me think of wild boar.

At random moments, usually from the back seat of a car, we’d play our boyfriend and house game, cursing each other with a series of objectionable suitors and hardscrabble shacks. For laughs, to instigate, but mostly to “make the food come”—an expression blanketed over all situations involving waiting (a visit to the bathroom or a look in a fish tank often does the trick).

When afflicted with a future beau who tried—and missed—to power snot out his window, Lea responded, “At least he’s got good taste.” And I would wet myself. Even years later, today I found myself shaking my head then abruptly breaking into laughter. Because my sister loves to eat her boogies. “Nature’s Candy.”

I love that a road can bring you that far back.

Vietnamese Cinnamon, a ladel, chili bowls with handles for All You Can Handle Chili, and a book of chili potions.

A Man Gift of Chili without the Chili. Would’ve included dried Ancho if I had more time.

Madeline Minds Her Manners & Madeleine cookies. We’ll be getting our bake on soon.