In my family, there is only one cooking show: The Barefoot Contessa. We refer to the show’s host, Ina Garten lovingly and often, usually only as “Ina”, as though we just got off the phone with her.
On the brink of sanity one Thanksgiving, my sister and I were deep in the throes of a Barefoot binge-a-thon. I opened a bottle of Veuve, and we started sippi…
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