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I made a note on my kindle at page 3 stating "this is it," because that's how much I could feel the energy of a fucking brilliant book in my hands.
The camaraderie and friendship combined with rebellion and sexy banter is almost too good to be in one novel. This is quite possibly the easiest five stars I have ever given.
He has the personality of a cabbage. There is quite a lot of politics involved, quite a lot of drunkedness and quite a lot of soft moments that make you clutch your kindle slightly tighter.
A beautiful feeling arose throughout the book as I saw the family and the omnipresent feeling of hope through friends. Nora gave me life and made me swoon.
June was someone we all need in our life, alongside Pez. Bea was the softest cinnamon role in the whole bakery and when they were all together, my heart started singing.
Sometimes, I'm skeptical about picking up new authors - especially, when they are debuting with a genre that means so much to me.
Yet, here I am, falling incredibly in love with everything this book is and will continue to be in my life. Jun 17, emma rated it liked it Shelves: ya , contemporary , couldn-t-wait-to-read , unpopular-opinion , recommend , 3-and-a-half-stars , to-review , auto-buy-authors , reviewed , diverse.
This made me And I famously cannot blush. CASEY MCQUISTON IS A STAR. This book has: - amazing banter - the best side characters - fantastic friendships - so much humor I laughed!
At a book! When does that HAPPEN! A re-meet-cute? Can I coin a term? No exaggeration. So, in short, Casey McQuiston is, after just one book, a complete auto-buy author for me.
This was not a perfect book. And in truth it made me cringe many times. Like, yes, on the one hand everyone is right and this is the cutest, fluffiest, most fun read of all time.
On the other hand I do not want my politics to be cute-fluffy-fun. I do not want them to be revisionist history where the current administration is absurdly well motivated and diverse and perfect and there is no corruption or back-hallway negotiation at all.
I also think the scene with the Queen of England was Cringe Central. Again, not realistic, just completely good politics versus completely bad politics depending on which better serves the plot.
This just felt I care about politics and seeing it idealized and completely unrealistic took me out of the story??
Can I say the word politics more. Even that was not enough to take away from this book so much for it to be a negative rating or an unenjoyable read.
Bottom line: Casey McQuiston give me your next book immediately please, and also thank you for not writing it about politics.
View all 36 comments. But you guys yeah, you, the ones who read it and fell in obsession with it made me want to give it a try with your exuberance.
AND I BLOODY LOVED IT. Really, after the first chapter I was like girl, keep reading, why the hell you stopped? It made me feel excruciatingly giggly.
What made it super pleasant for me is the twist of the political reality — the United States actually has a female president, which is a determined lady from Texas and she has two amazing children who happen to be half Mexican.
How cool is that though? On the other hand, I found a bit of time and event inaccuracy in this that actually disturbs my OCD and keeps me awake at night.
Anyway, those are details that would probably be discussed by me with a shrink in a private session of why am I like this.
Let me show you instead another positive thing about this book that I really loved. These characters, man. They all are so sweet and so witty and so lovely and they make you feel so warm and welcome.
I could feel it in my bones, I swear. Henry is as slightly introverted and as prone to extreme mood swings and as puppy-lovable like every Pieces I know and Alex is as stubborn and as passionate and ready to take over the world, making plans, being the centre of every event, burying himself in thousands of projects as every single Aries I know.
Jesus, this is disturbingly accurate. The love in this book is real and is tear-dropping. But still, let me warn you about some aspects.
There are loads of hook-ups and sexy-scenes in there, some more detailed, some not-so, but you still get the picture. Dead-ass serious now, to me, they are a bit cringe.
But not because of a boy loving another boy. God no. To me, scenes like that, with an explicit type of content, are cringe as hell in general.
No matter in which -sexuality suffix they end. This was a lit book. I loved it. Even more than I thought. I actually forgot about all these stereotypes and labels the society tries to push down our throats.
For moments on, there was just me, witnessing a love story unfolding. Which scream at me with love. I thought, if someone like you ever loved me, it would set me on fire.
And then I was a careless fool, and I fell in love with you anyway …. And then, inexplicably, you had the absolute audacity to love me back.
Can you believe it? View all 33 comments. Jan 05, Heather K dentist in my spare time rated it it was amazing Shelves: romance , made-me-laugh , poc-mc , new-adult , contemporary , m-m , little-to-no-sex-content , loved-it , hype-hype-hype , great-chemistry.
I mean, this is Casey McQuiston 's first book, and it's written in present tense ugh , but love it I did. I loved it HARD.
My reading experience was simply me laughing, crying, or swooning in a continuous cycle. Sometimes all three at once.
It's been a long, long time since I've wanted to melt into a puddle of goo on the floor because the romance!!!
Holy god, this story was the romancey-romance of your dreams. I'm a sucker for a few things in a romance book, and this story has nearly all of them.
We get a sexual awakening can I get a halleloo?! Did Casey McQuiston worm her way into my brain and pull out my deepest fantasies?!?!?!
I wanted to take a nap inside these pages. I took pictures and screenshots of my Kindle of the uber-romantic email exchange to swoon over later.
I cried and laughed like a lunatic on my couch, huddled in a prison of tea and reading of my own making. I fell asleep with the imprint of my Kindle on my face at 3 am.
Even though I don't like reading about politics or political games, even though present tense makes me feel itchy did I mention that yet??
The dialogue is something I will remember for a long time. The humor was absolutely everything and elevated this book from good to unbelievably amazing.
The feelings were so intense I felt like my heart was going to jump out of my chest. It's worth your time and your money, and it's worth it to read something so fun and heartfelt and rare that it made it's way on to my elusive favorites list.
With literally thousands of romances under my belt, this one still stands out. And nothing will matter but just we two, we two longing loves at last come together.
View all 83 comments. Heather K dentist in my spare time Amazonaute wrote: "The power point stuff had me guffawing. Amazonaute wrote: "The power point stuff had me guffawing.
Saldana I love how the 5-star reviews focused on the romance Jan 02, PM. Feb 10, Madison rated it it was ok. I recieved this book from NetGalley in exchange for an honest review.
I mean, seriously, can you think of one contemporary author outside of YA who has gotten famous writing LGBTQ romance novels?
What about fiction in general? I know, me neither. So why this book? That much is for damn sure. I have a theory. Red, White, and Royal Blue follows Alex Claremont-Diaz, a Mexican-American kid whose mom was elected president in CM writes in the acknowledgements that this book started as a fun project and, after the course of the actual election, became a sort of therapeutic, wish-fulfilling exercise.
I get that; I wrote fanfiction about Pete Wentz being my boyfriend in the 6th grade, so why not a President! Hillary AU?
My issue is that someone else picked up this book and thought it was a good idea to publish it. I could honestly go on forever.
Okay, so Ellen chats with Netanyahu and June wants to be bffs with Ronan Farrow. If I were supposed to be having a good time reading, that notion would certainly jerk me out of it quickly.
If this book had leaned harder into its Disney Channel inclinations, this would be a much different review. The sex scenes are jarring; in a break with modern romance conventions, CM describes the undressing and kissing in vivid, pages-long detail, then quickly skirts past sex.
And this brings us to my theory: why this goddamn book? By and large, the people who write this stuff are, as far as the publishing world and audiences at large perceive them, white women writing for a white woman audience.
Publishers see the success of Simon vs. Sure, ice cream rules, but are we just gonna ignore how utterly useless it is in the current landscape?
So cute I cried. View all 5 comments. Alex Claremont-Diaz, First Son of the United States, is making his way through college while plotting a future career in politics.
He already has years of experience working on various campaigns and is quite a successful schmoozer. Along with his sister and best friend, they navigate the D.
I love political strategy in books, so right from the start, I'm digging the vibe. It quickly becomes obvious that Alex has some growing up to do.
As he should Alex Claremont-Diaz, First Son of the United States, is making his way through college while plotting a future career in politics.
As he should, he's in his earlys, y'all, give the boy a break! He parties a little too hard, hooks up with randoms, who are then forced to sign NDAs and feuds with foreign dignitaries.
Henry is all sorts of swoony, exuding Prince Charming vibes, but Alex sees him as a total bore and his number one enemy. When an embarrassing incident, involving both Alex and Henry, occurs at a royal wedding, the boys are forced to pretend to be friends in order to save face.
Alex would rather do pretty much anything else. Unfortunately, his wants are inconsequential at this point, and so begins the relationship that will melt you; mind, body and soul.
If you are reading this, I am sure you already know what this book involves. It has received a lot of hype and for good reason.
This is basically the book the world has been waiting for. And let's be honest, it's a book the world needs. I personally was swept away from the very first pages.
It is so fun. Pure fun on the page, but also thoughtful in its presentation. I truly feel this is ground-breaking and we will all be talking about it for years to come.
McQuiston did such a great job of making this so contemporary and natural. It never felt forced. The dialogue was believable and the storyline provided a lot of food for thought.
I have heard a few people mention that it is too optimistic? To me, I didn't really think so. It is a happy story overall, but our characters have struggles just like real people.
Alex and Henry both grapple with their sexuality and what that means in terms of their lives, their family's responses, the world's response; they really struggled with that.
There's no question, they had hard decisions to make, just like in real life. As far as the overall outcome, I think we needed a book like this.
Where this could be a reality? Where the majority of the people would stand on the side of what is right instead of hiding behind the curtains of tradition?
I think this will mean a heck of a lot to a lot of people and McQuiston is definitely on my list of autobuy authors after this spectacular debut!
Thank you so much to the publisher, St. Martin's Press, for providing me with a copy of this to read and review.
I always appreciate the opportunity. I think this will be making a lot of reader's 'Best of ' lists! View all 18 comments.
May 15, monica kim rated it really liked it Shelves: releases. View all 10 comments. It's not just a love story between Alex and Henry.
It's a love story between Alex and Henry and everyone on Tumblr. I have not read a book that wallows in its own sense of self-importance since, well, ever.
This book won a Goodreads Choice Award. I had assumed it would be good because of that. But then again, SJM books also win GCAs and we know how I feel about those.
I hate this book already is a romance between the son of POTUS and the son of the royal family. If you would think that means serious political issues are going to be discussed-- HA!
Think again. All of these references are going to mean nothing in ten years, but right now everyone is just nodding their heads and saying, "Yes, so topical!
It reads like fanfic. I wouldn't be surprised if this started out as fanfic, but even if it didn't, it has that vibe. That vaguely fetishistic vibe that some books about gay men have that really bothers me, because it feels like they rely on stereotypes and head cannons and less about creating actual, realistic characters who are having an actual, realistic romance.
Henry and Alex are both SO IMMATURE. They have zero common sense, zero social savvy. Considering that they're both children of major heads of state, you would think that there would actually be some intelligence and grace somewhere in there, but no.
Their "charm" consists of sarcastic grade school insults that we're supposed to believe is witty banter, and we're supposed to relate to them because they watch TV shows and read books that appeal to the demographic, eat ice creams in the middle of the night, and use emojis!
I FEEL SEEN! The female characters in this book, as others have pointed out, are all interchangeable. I hate being pandered to, and I hate books that masquerade as intellectual and witty when they are, in fact, rather dull and unexceptional.
If you want to read a good m-m romance that explores politics and fame while also being a provoking and incredibly romantic love story, read THE GRAVITY OF US it's ownvoices!
Desert Wind Trio 8 LIVE MUSIC:. Classic rock party band playing hits from the 70s 80s and 90s. So lets eat, drink, and be merry with the help of The Strain ft.
Sammy Shako! Love is in the air and what better way to celebrate than with a gorgeous piece of art?
Whether you paint as a gift for a loved one or purely for the love of yourself, we will be here to have fun with you along the way!
Also included in the price is a pint of beer of glass of wine! Over different songs by 80 different artists in 11 different genres over 6 different decades!
If you missed them last time this is your chance! The Rhythm Rockers are a rockin n boppin rockabilly band that are traditional and contemporary rockabilly.
They are completely rock n roll and are based out of Fredericksburg, VA. Central to my mission, conducted with the zeal of a religious convert, is the great God of expatriate parents, Uncle Walt.
Uncle Walt is our saviour; him and the other Hollywood relatives because unfortunately we can't get Auntie Cbeebies and I'd throw myself under a Ninky Nonk if I had to watch In the Night Garden every day.
Anyway, the house rule is that films are watched in VO or original version and as Uncle Walt churns out far more children's entertainment than the rest of the world put together, this means lots of English lessons disguised as fun.
This is the carrot to my linguistic stick; the reward La Fille gets for persisting with her mother's tongue. I can live with the Disney fluff and political incorrectness, the fairies, the pink princesses and the cute talking animals as long as whatever tosh they are talking is in English.
Then the remote broke down and we had to watch Mulan II in French. A double whammy that made me regret not studying something useful like electronic circuitry.
The default language on DVDs sold in France is French. Normally this is no problem; I just go to the audio configurations, flick it to English and voila, even the insects are talking my language.
But with no remote the only way to play a movie was to push the play button on the DVD which then launched itself into French.
I took the remote apart and cleaned it but it still wouldn't work. La Fille wailed: "Why can't I watch it in French? La Fille flounced off, arms crossed, pet lip jutting.
Her parting shot was: "You do what you want. I'm going to the lavatory. I don't know where she got that from and I don't know what I'm worrying about.
This girl speaks English better than I do. Posted by Parisgirl at 4 comments:. Wednesday, 27 May Kate Moss's bottom. British people are the fattest in Europe but also, we are told, the happiest with our weight; the French would say we are "bien dans notre peau" or happy in our skin.
And secretly I'm a skinny supermodel called Kate Moss; so secretly even my mirror doesn't realise. How many tubby British teenage girls are happy in their peau when they realise that unless they starve themselves they're never going to look like the skinny models and actresses in the glossy magazines who don't look like that either having been airbrushed?
So it's another diet or weight loss pills with side effects you don't want to think about too much the drug company calls it the "Alli Oops" as if it were mildly amusing, which it is not or another deep pan pizza.
Seeing the swathes of flesh bared on a chilly day in London recently I suspect the pizza and deluded mirror have joined forces.
Honest" I do wonder what those who sit on the Underground and eat their own body mass in crisps, chips, chocolate and McDonalds in five stops on the Central Line and still have time for a Diet Coke, expect.
Having said that, I am not sure if it's entirely their fault. Every time I go to Britain I put on weight. Every time without fail; I get back to Paris, step on the scales and I'm two kilos heavier.
Not only is it annoying, I just don't get it; in the UK I eat less, I eat earlier and I expend half a million calories hauling bags and La Fille half way up the country to my parents' home and then down again.
This time I bought sandwiches for the Frenchman and La Fille for lunch and an apple for me. I said no to fish and chips and ice cream by the seaside and opted for salad.
I refused potatoes and Yorkshire pudding and had extra vegetables, I ate the rhubarb without the custard. When I left the UK nine years ago chocolate bars and bags of sweets were normal-sized.
Now the confectionary counters that are in your face every ten paces in London look as if they have undergone radiation on a Chernobyl scale.
Then there's the enticing "two-for-one" offers in the supermarket and the obscene cereal boxes as big as houses because of course it's cheaper to buy in bulk and not, dear customer, because we're trying to encourage you to feed your face even more, oh no, no nooo!
And a large glass of wine? Why not? A bargain! But let's face it, there's no mirror in the world going to give you a Kate Moss bottom if you eat all that in one go.
Posted by Parisgirl at 7 comments:. Wednesday, 20 May Fiddle-de-dee. If one of my old editors were alive today I suspect he might write the following memo to his staff.
However, I do not ever wish to see these words appearing next to each other. The very idea that France's elected representatives should account for the spending of personal allowances or that we should learn they spent it on moats, chandeliers, loo rolls, HobNobs or whatever, is risible enough.
Add incredulity to ruptured spleens and mass hilarity. There were raised eyebrows a few years ago when food bills run up at the taxpayers' expense by Jacques Chirac when Mayor of Paris, and his wife Bernadette were investigated.
The receipts revealed a penchant for foie gras, truffles, organic yoghurt and chocolate mousse. The Frenchman believes the British row is heading into dangerous territory.
He points out, presciently I fear, that far-right leader Jean-Marie Le Pen , leader of France's Front National, has made a successful career out of claiming, among other things, that the French political system is rotten; so successful he was voted into the run-off in the presidential election.
But never mind the chocolate biscuits and toilet paper. Call me venal and disgusting but in what privileged parallel universe do people "forget" or "not realise" they have paid off their mortgage?
I know interest rates are low, but we're not talking about settling the milk bill here. Perhaps I should be less cynical. And perhaps I should have kept La Fille at home today after she woke up this morning and announced: "I can't go to school.
I've a headache, my eyes hurt, my tummy's sore and my leg is broken. Monday, 4 May Man's Inhumanity to Man. Over the last couple of weeks the French papers have carried pictures of a dark-haired woman in large glasses whose face is etched with unimaginable pain.
She is Ruth Halimi, the mother of Ilan Halimi, a young Parisien mobile telephone salesman who was kidnapped, tortured and murdered in , allegedly by a group of youngsters who called themselves the "Barbarians".
The details emerging from the trial of those accused of Ilan Halimi's murder are truly horrific and should bring tears to the most hard-hearted or tragedy inured.
The story has been in some British papers, but bears repeating, in my view, not least because it reminds us of the wide and varied forms man's inhumanity to fellow man can take.
Ilan Halimi, aged 23, was lured into a honey trap by a pretty girl acting on the instructions of the gang leader, the court heard.
Having persuaded the young man to meet her, Ilan Halimi was then pounced on by the gang. He was, we learned, stripped naked and kept prisoner for 24 days during which his head apart from his nose was almost entirely covered in tape and he was stabbed, prodded, burned with cigarettes and beaten.
A ransom was demanded of his family. He died in an ambulance on the way to hospital. Ilan Halimi was Jewish and apparently snatched because the head of the gang - a Muslim - believed Jews to be rich and instilled with a sense of social solidarity meaning they would be more likely to come up with the demanded six-figure ransom.
Arguments, on which I make no comment, continue over whether the murder was motivated by anti-Semitism or money. What is as deeply troubling as the above details is that there are 27 young people, two of them minors at the time of the murder, in the dock.
Yes, 27 - TWENTY SEVEN - people. That's 27 people accused of being involved or having knowledge of what was happening to Ilan Halimi while it was happening not one of whom thought to inform the police or raise the alarm even anonymously.
In 20 years as a foreign correspondent I have witnessed some very gruesome events at first hand. The Balkan wars supplied enough material for a lifetime of horror movies, among them a Croatian village where dozens of mainly elderly residents had been massacred by a vaguely paramilitary group some using chainsaws to cut them in half better not to dwell too much on the premeditation involved or the physical consequences.
There was the Bosnian village where women and children and old men had been herded into the basement of a house, covered in petrol and burned alive their charred skeletons captured in the throes of an agonising death.
There were first hand accounts of the Omarska prison camp and Srebrenica , arguably the most shameful act of negligence in post Second World War European history.
In another hemisphere there were children in Sierra Leone who had had their ears and noses and limbs chopped off by machete wielding savages who had demanded: "long sleeve or short sleeve" before amputating their arms or hands.
But it is a long time since I have seen or heard anything to make me feel so helplessly angry and cry such bitter, bitter tears as the story of Ilan Halimi.
I do not know how Ruth Halimi can bear the grief so profoundly written on her it is almost tangible. She has suffered the death of her beloved son and last week she must have suffered his death a thousand times over as the man accused of his murder swaggered and shouted his defiance and showed not the slightest hint of remorse raining blows upon the mother as he was accused of doing to the son.
As Ruth Halimi contained herself, rocking back and forth in her seat in court, the so-called chief barbarian grinned and joked.
I only wish I had something profound and redeeming to say about all this, but I haven't. As a mother and a human being I just feel for Ruth Halimi.
Posted by Parisgirl at 11 comments:. Monday, 27 April iPhone, uPhone, noPhone. La Fille and I have been spending the holidays in the UK.
Don't ask me how the thief performed this particularly nasty trick of spiriting away a day old phone inside a case, inside another case, inside a closed bag on the very day my new binding two-year contract came into effect, because I really have no idea.
I felt nothing. I should say that I've been lucky until now; I've never been a victim of a crime before unless you count being shot at while trying to report from warzones.
So I admit I was a bit shaken and emotional. Not hysterical after all it was "just a phone" as someone pointed out, but a bit spooked. The reason for this wasn't just having the phone pinched - and knowing I would have to pay euros to replace it - but the fact that in the early hours of Sunday I found myself in a police station, not sure exactly where I was, without a map to find out, without a taxi rank in sight and without any means of finding out if the Frenchman and La Fille had got home safely or letting them know where I was and what was happening.
I found myself in the early hours of Sunday in a London police station talking to a young duty officer who quite clearly did not believe a word I was saying.
It wasn't that he told me he couldn't find any record on his computer of the crime report I'd already made by phone having been astonished to find that Richmond police station closes at 8.
It wasn't even that he told me there was no evidence of "theft" "the removal of something from someone with the intention of depriving them of it or use of it," as he pointed out.
It wasn't just that he was unsympathetic and suggested I'd mislaid the phone, but that he made judgments he had no right, in my opinion, to make.
What really shocked me were two comments he uttered during our exchange conducted in the station reception with him sitting about two feet behind a glass screen.
I am going to recount them as accurately as I remember given my state of distress and frustration at the time.
At some point half way through our conversation at around 1am he made a remark about "alcohol on your breath". Taken aback I said something like "I beg your pardon," and he repeated that he could smell alcohol on my breath.
He knew I'd been at a party when my phone was stolen, I'd told him that, but I didn't deem it necessary to say I'd only been at it about an hour before it was nicked nor that I hadn't drunk anything since, a period of around four hours.
I mean, I wasn't rolling drunk so what business was it of his? Then he recounted a story of how someone had come in claiming to have been attacked and had their mobile stolen in the street by two "black men" his words not mine , when it turned out the phone had been at home all the time.
Frankly I couldn't see the relevance of either of these comments except to make a judgment about me and cast doubt on my claim. Everything I said, he shot down.
The phone, fully charged at the time, was redirecting to voicemail, I said, suggesting it had been turned off. I wrote down the letters and numbers on his shoulder tabs.
I am ashamed to say that at one point I did say to the officious officer that I knew the Mayor of London which isn't strictly true though I do know several members of his close family but I was sorely provoked.
On the other hand, I did apologise for being somewhat emotional, an apology he didn't even acknowledge. In the end he flatly refused to make a crime report and gave me a grudgingly written Property Lost in Streets form on which his belief that I was a liar was evident.
Despite the property not being "lost" and certainly not "lost in streets", under 'Where Lost' he wrote: "Believed to be Later, the phone company took one look at this mealy-mouthed document and refused to put an international block on the phone meaning the thief is probably still wandering around making free use of my expensive property.
Thankfully, the female operators on the Metropolitan Police non-emergency line were less judgmental and considerably more helpful and, after hearing my tale of telephone woe, promised to send a crime report.
This is their number should you ever need them: 12 Look, I realise being the duty officer in a London police station on a Saturday night cannot be much fun and must involve fobbing off drunks and trying to spot fraudulent claims.
What I should have said was women of a certain age with energetic young children who get up early and who are on the last night of their holiday in London have better things to do in the early hours of the morning - like sleep - than hang around police stations trying to convince members of Her Majesty's police force that they are not simply a dozy cow but a genuine victim of crime.
Posted by Parisgirl at 13 comments:. Tuesday, 14 April The Rosbif and the Frogs. I am turning native. I ate frogs' legs yesterday. This is the French experience, eh?
Not much to it really, psychologically or physically unless you are a frog lover. Or a frog. You'd be hard pressed to get fat on them.
For the curious they taste like very tiny chicken legs, though the squeamish might be turned by the fact they are served in pairs still joined at the hip.
I worried that La Fille might be a little disturbed by the idea as her favourite series of books at the moment is Frog and Toad.
I was ready to explain - though I'm not sure what or how - but there was no need. She was so keen the Frenchman said: "Aha! You are half French after all", as if there might be some doubt about this.
I was with French friends and the conversation turned to other national delicacies; it was admitted that the French do have some very dubious culinary habits.
For starters there's Tete de Veau , or indeed the process involved in the making of foie gras , which, is cruel even if the end product is delicious.
But there are lines to be drawn with my efforts to integrate. Miss in the KItchen? Palatable Pastime?
Pastry Chef Online? Perspective Portions? Plowing Through Life? PNW Eats? Real Life With Dad? Seduction In The Kitchen? Simple and Savory? Souffle Bombay?
Strawberry Blondie Kitchen? SueBee Homemaker? Sumptuous Spoonfuls? Sweet ReciPeas? Swirls of Flavor? Take Two Tapas? Tampa Cake Girl?
Taste And See? The Baking Fairy? The Beard and The Baker? The Complete Savorist? The Crumby Kitchen? The Heritage Cookbook Project?
The Keto Guy? The Redhead Baker? The Rowdy Baker? The Schmidty Wife? The Shirley Journey? The Spiffy Cookie? This Farm Girl Cooks?
Thyme for Cocktails? We are not Martha? Well Fed Baker? West Via Midwest?