Happy Birthday, Paula Deen!

It’s no secret over here at Nobody Puts Baby in a Horner that I love me some Paula Deen like Paula Deen loves herself some butter.  And while my holiday plans to visit my deep-fried mecca (The Lady and Sons) were ultimately foiled (curses to you, unnecessarily convoluted and ambiguous process by which one ensures a table at the Lady and Sons!), she remains the Julia to my Julie.  Sure, I may not be blogging about my experience cooking Paula Deen’s recipe oeuvre (I lack the requisite ambition/willingness to have a coronary before I’m 30), but I will gladly blog about this:

Sure, it may not be playing an instrumental role in bringing French cuisine into the American household, but Paula Deen once had really hot guys in tight shirts deliver her a giant bust made ENTIRELY OUT OF BUTTER.  AND THEN SHE KISSED IT.  Et tu, Mrs. Child?

Also, only Paula Deen is capable of the following culinary crazy train:

Fried butter balls, which–according to the recipe on Food Network–contain a mixture of butter and cream cheese.  They’re either the work of sublime genius or the quickest way to heart failure since competitive gravy drinking, and I’m not sure whether to salivate or get my cholesterol checked when I think about these orgasmorsels, but irregardless, y’all: WAWESOME.

So happy birthday, Paula Deen!  You’re a constant reminder us that we really can taste heaven.  It’s just better deep fried.

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