Babka is the Hamilton of breads!
“We were born to strudel!”
Stella wrote “Cheech!” and we hoped for the best.
“I’m going to go through all of the stages of grief, but not in the right order,” A warned me as we went in to see Hillary Clinton. “So good luck.”
You can’t keep a 200 year-old bottle of balsamic in your dorm, kids.
What if the cure for anxiety was making 70 macaroons at once?
Should we go back over the border for espresso spoons?
Spoilers for both gay films I watched this weekend: Endgame and the independent period drama Tell It To The Bees
If I had to attend the Oscars, I would get my outfit at REI.
What we felt for him was genuine, but he never was.
I whispered, “This is what plays when Jack-Jack explodes,” and she said “What?”