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<title>The Grub Report</title><link>http://www.grubreport.com</link><description>Specials from The Grub Report</description><language>en-us</language>

<item>
<title>Author! Author?</title>
<link>http://www.grubreport.com/blueplatespecial/author.html</link>
<pubDate>Sat, 28 Jan 2012 05:55:00 -0800</pubDate>
<description><![CDATA[
Overthinking what precise point in the process a writer becomes an author.
]]></description>
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<item>
<title>We Wish You a Merry Cheesemas</title>
<link>http://www.grubreport.com/blueplatespecial/cheesemas11.html</link>
<pubDate>Thu, 15 Dec 2011 05:55:00 -0800</pubDate>
<description><![CDATA[
Sing along with some oldies but stinkies: O, Come All Ye Mongers, God Rest Ye Merry, Cheesemonger, Silent Cheese, Here We Come A-Mongering, and Oh, Christmas Cheese, Oh Christmas Cheese.
]]></description>
</item>

<item>
<title>The New Butter Soup: English Cheddar Chowder</title>
<link>http://www.grubreport.com/blueplatespecial/chedchow.html</link>
<pubDate>Mon, 12 Dec 2011 05:55:00 -0800</pubDate>
<description><![CDATA[
...to save up the required amount of butter would have necessitated protracted butter hoarding in my Corey Haim and Alexander Winter-papered closet. I shudder to think how THAT would have ended.
]]></description>
</item>

<item>
<title>Blurb Your Enthusiasm</title>
<link>http://www.grubreport.com/soupdujour/blurbs.html</link>
<pubDate>Thu, 08 Dec 2011 05:55:00 -0800</pubDate>
<description><![CDATA[
Obviously, we all like to be validated, but having to ask for it so nakedly and then give a deadline by which that validation needs to be delivered feels embarrassing, needy, desperate, and presumptuous.
]]></description>
</item>

<item>
<title>A Big Stack of Book: Suffering Succotash</title>
<link>http://www.grubreport.com/soupdujour/tome.html</link>
<pubDate>Fri, 02 Dec 2011 05:55:00 -0800</pubDate>
<description><![CDATA[
Every writer needs this beauty shot. The printed-out hard copy of the manuscript means you can pull out your kitchen scale and say, "18 months of blood weighs 2 pounds, 11 ounces."
]]></description>
</item>

<item>
<title>Page Fright</title>
<link>http://www.grubreport.com/alacarte/pagefright.html</link>
<pubDate>Tue, 18 Oct 2011 05:55:00 -0800</pubDate>
<description><![CDATA[
I was keyed up and irritable and completely convinced that I could make everything work if I just TRIED HARDER AND LONGER. I was also pretty convinced I could make everything work if I just THREW MY LAPTOP OUT THE WINDOW.
]]></description>
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<item>
<title>Eat Dirt</title>
<link>http://www.grubreport.com/alacarte/dirtbrownies.html</link>
<pubDate>Thu, 06 Oct 2011 05:55:00 -0800</pubDate>
<description><![CDATA[
I once made a pan of dirt-laced brownies. On purpose. Because I had a crush.
]]></description>
</item>

<item>
<title>Camp Picky Eating, Part II</title>
<link>http://www.grubreport.com/blueplatespecial/camp2.html</link>
<pubDate>Tue, 09 Aug 2011 05:55:00 -0800</pubDate>
<description><![CDATA[
Like, you know that it's SUPPOSED meatloaf, which is happy, because you LIKE meatloaf, but you also know it's NOT SUPPOSED to be riddled with big-ass chunks of carrot and be weeping some sort of cloudy liquid on the plate. Also, "weeping" reminds you of something that happens to wounds, which means you are now comparing the suspiciously cloudy liquid on the plate to pus and that's just not good for anyone involved.
]]></description>
</item>

<item>
<title>Clogged Memory</title>
<link>http://www.grubreport.com/alacarte/clogs.html</link>
<pubDate>Tue, 02 Aug 2011 05:55:00 -0800</pubDate>
<description><![CDATA[
Ooooh, but I can taste the memory of how badly I wanted them! My babysitters had them and the KISS-loving teenagers across the street had them, which just PROVED how COOL they were.
]]></description>
</item>

<item>
<title>Camp Picky Eating</title>
<link>http://www.grubreport.com/blueplatespecial/camp.html</link>
<pubDate>Wed, 20 Jul 2011 05:55:00 -0800</pubDate>
<description><![CDATA[
I knew there would be scores of fashionable teen girls in their jewel-toned Patagonia pullovers and their classic and preppy Timberland boots with bright red laces. And then there'd be me -- tromping around in my dork boots.
]]></description>
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