We’re going to update you on all the whiskeys our group will be tasting on the mountain so your presumably now-formed queer whiskey tasting friend-group can taste along with us. And our brand new obsession? Hudson Whiskey.

Is it just me or is focaccia gay?

I’m ranking them here based on whether or not they actually taste like the thing they’re supposed to be.

Welcome to Fish Party, a new series about tinned fish, friendship, and dyke domesticity. First up: a review of the hot and salty Fishwife x Fly By Jing collab!

I pick up some tips and tricks from my dad for making his gunpowder — a South Indian dal and spice blend that I love to sprinkle on rice, and is also great on salads, toast and most snacks.

Get familiar with her and her recipes in this handy ranked list.

A fake gay bar on a fake gay beach — WHY NOT!

Which of five wonderful rosés would be best for “listening to D-I-V-O-R-C-E by Tammy Wynette and feeling accomplished”? The answer to this question and so many more lie within this post.

I love eggnog, so I’ve taken it upon myself to write a recipe that I think even its most loyal haters will love. There’s no drinking the eggnog here, just using it to infuse the dough and glaze with warm winter spices and vanilla. The brown butter doesn’t hurt either.

Why did we all want to share this thing? What made some videos so appealing? Why…are we like this?

On this small island, there are eight Scotch whisky distilleries. I visited three of them, all within a couple miles of each other: Ardbeg, Lagavulin and Laphroaig. Here’s what I learned.

“This is the fun part where you cut the butter into the flour! I use this moment to release my pent up anger with the patriarchy.”

30+ queers gathered in a room to eat cheese curds and drink box wine. Now I will share the knowledge we obtained with you, because we’re a community and that’s how it works.

“Once in college I ate popcorn for seven straight meals. That’s over two days of nothing but popcorn.”

The performance of luxury is more important to me than ever. Plus you can channel your anger into rimming a glass.

“I get up off the floor, reach for a long, heavy leek and a cutting board and my favorite knife, its weight in my palm like an amulet. I feel like a stranger in my own life, but I have seven hours and eight dishes left. There is work to be done.”

“I will lick that shit out of any allegedly “empty” sauce container of aioli regardless of its size in comparison to my tongue and how many people watch in horror or confusion when I refuse to let its gelatinous goodness remain clinging to the sides of its serving dish where it would otherwise remain unused, unwanted and unappreciated.”

Working for four and a half years in the quality department at a kitchen gadget company has left me with some strong opinions about proper cooking prep.

She looked me up and down and told me I had magnificent hair. So I told her she had a beautiful tail. She told me she liked my scar. I told her I liked her, and would she like to have dinner with me sometime? “Yesss,” she replied. The following evening she came to my apartment and I fed her five different homemade soups.

“It’s like biting into a decorative soap. Whoever decided this was an acceptable form of dessert was a sadist of the highest order. If anyone ever offers you one of these items, escape immediately; this person is trying to kill you.”