

(source) (opart)

(source) (natalie dee)
(source) (the bumbling bird)(my whisked foot) (my scratched hiking ankles)
I am, without a doubt, a woman who worships the whisk. I adore the simple kitchen companion in all its glory and grace. I gush over the ding-dings that the darling appliance applies to any given bowl. I relish in its round edges and revealed bends, and I probably quite frankly, seem batty having announced this to the Wide World Web.
In continuing this bodacious rant, it is appropriate that I also blab that I write a cooking column over at The Phoenix with Leann, and it is titled, Chicks with Whisks. This week I detail my current affair with coconut ice cream and also, suggest a health-conscious, mango-infused alternative to the typical high-calorie blends.