Big Pimpin'

Hey there, all you sexy chickens.

I found out today that a couple of you gorgeous, gorgeous creatures nominated me for Culinate's Death By Chocolate contest.

Does that mean you want to kill me? With cocoa goodness?

No, it does not.

Apparently, it means you think I need to spend a day tasting confections and drinking wine at a festival (which wouldn't suck) AND eat dinner at The French Laundry (OH MY GOD THAT WOULD SO NOT SUCK). Because those are the prizes.

You guys rock. Thanks for thinking of me.

Problem is, I've only really done two posts about chocolate, and I'm not sure they're exciting enough for me to win those fabulous prizes. The judges (David Lebovitz and Smitten Kitchen's Deb, among others) will be tough... oh yes, they will. They will crack their whip of judginess and say something like, "Oh, how we'd love to have Carol as a finalist or maybe even win, but would America vote for her? Can she bring it? Does she have what it takes to become America's Next Top Mod... Um, I mean, can she cook? With chocolate? And is she cool and awesome and wearing a really cute sweater right now and totally deserving of this prize? Are her readers some badass mofos who can turn out the vote?"

I totally know that's what they're thinking, and I also totally (who am I with all these totallys, Moon Unit Zappa?) know you can turn out the vote. So, where there's a will, there's a way. And believe it or not, there's something in it for you, too.

If you cast a vote for French Laundry at Home in this contest, you are automatically entered to win some pretty fabulous stuff yerself, like a trip to Napa to attend the Death By Chocolate Festival (airfare included)! Or, you might win some cookbooks, candy, or other groovy stuff. Go ahead, have a click. It'll feel good. It's good practice for November when that other election comes our way. You know, the one in which you will elect my boyfriend, Mike Bloomberg, to take over 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue? Yeah, so now you can practice your voting skillz by electing me First Lady of Chocolate and Dinner At The French Laundry. I need to do research there before our (Mike's and my) first State Dinner at the White House. Ahem.

Starting Monday, February 4, click on this little thingamajigger to make some magic happen:


Who knows? Maybe we'll BOTH win, and we can fly out to Napa and hang out together and grab a bite to eat and do the whole "no you're pretty, no you're pretty" thing for the afternoon. And, if you're a girl, later that night we can change into our jammies and have a pillow fight (*coughcough*desperate use of imagery to get the male vote *coughcough*). Or, if you're a guy, we can hang out, drink wine, and have a burping contest. You know, whatevs.

But seriously, if you feel compelled to throw a vote or two my way here it is again -- click away:


I won't be too sad if I lose. I'll just lay here in bed, for days, crying, wondering if you all ever really did love me... and then, I will get your phone number, call you up and sing "No Diggity" into your voice mail and song-poison you. ("I like the way you work it, no diggity, I got to bag it up (bag it up)" -- I'll stop singing when you start voting! Don't make me get to the Hey Yos or the Play Ons.)