And there's still room for the laundry. (submitted by Bailey)

The cover of Alice Bailey’s 1934 book. Recently, I was reading a feature about Jonathan Richman in a 1986 issue of SPIN. This startling (to me, anyway) quote from Lou Reed jumped off the page: One of my big mistakes was turning [Richman] on to Alice Bailey, that’s where that insect song comes from. I said, “Do you know, Jonathan, that insects are a manifestation of negative ego thoughts? That’s on page 114.” So he got that. That’s a dangerous set of books. That’s why Billy Name locked himself in his darkroom at Andy Warhol’s Factory for five months. Wait a minute: Lou Reed was interested in Alice Bailey? Like, the theosophist Alice Bailey? Like, the musician Lou Reed, from New York City? Magic And Loss, okay, but I can’t hardly believe that the Lou Reed I’ve listened to for most of my life ever gave a flying fuck about esoteric matters. And that’s why Billy Name became such a recluse? Shut the front door, I said to the 1986 issue of SPIN; surely, Lou was pulling the journalist’s leg, putting him on, taking the piss. How little I know. As it turns...

ix, 466 pages, 24 unnumbered pages of plates : 20 cm

These stunning behind the scenes pictures capture why the most famous criminal court in the world - the Old Bailey in London - would terrify even the most hardened crook.

Tarte mit Baileys, Nougat und Karamell, dazu Baileys Latte

Few issues face the modern Londoner with more regularity than the trials, tribulations, and pitfalls of the renting market. The majority of the city’s population lease their accommodation, pay near…

Dave Myers’ wife Lili shared a heartbreaking tribute to her late husband on Thursday after he died at age 66 last month following a battle with cancer. Lili paid tribute…

“God's Own Junkyard 🌈🍦💞 ロンドンのセンターから少し離れた静かな場所にひっそりとあって、金土日しかオープンしてない穴場カフェ🍰”

Over geen enkel recept kregen we zoveel reacties als deze! In het originele recept in Foodies Magazine staat geen Baileys bij de ingrediënten. Dat klopt, door de overige ingrediënten krijgt de room een lichte Baileyssmaak. Zo is deze cakerol geschikt voor iedereen en alle leeftijden. Liever toch een scheutje Baileys? Geen probleem, voeg dit toe aan de room voor je deze opklopt.

Explore the celebrated interiors of some of Frank Lloyd Wright’s renowned works.

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Honestly, we all need to talk about the Limited Too candy section more often.

So simple, yet so good! A velvety custard-soaked Baileys bread and butter pudding, which makes a delicious twist on the classic recipe

Kniepertjes met baileysroom en limoncelloroom is een echte traktatie tijdens oud en nieuw. de jaarwisseling is natuurlijk voor oliebollen, maar kniepertjes zijn een leuke afwisseling!

Bereiden:Verwarm de slagroom samen met de Baileys likeur in een kleine pan. Mix daar met een garde een afgestreken theelepel agar agar door. Breng het geheel zachtjes aan de kook en haal de pan na één minuut van het vuur. Schenk de Baileys room in vier kommetjes. Dit kunnen ook glaasjes zijn. Laat de panna cotta minimaal een uur opstijven in de koelkast.Maak ondertussen de gekarameliseerde hazelnootjes. Doe de hazelnoten samen met het water en de suiker in een pan met dikke bodem. Breng al roerend zachtjes aan de kook. De suiker zal na een minuut of vijf gaan karameliseren. Blijf roeren tot alle nootjes versuikerd zijn en laat ze daarna afkoelen. Serveren:Ga met een mesje langs de zijkant van de kommetjes om de panna cotta los te halen. (Je kunt deze stap overslaan als je de panna cotta in de glaasjes wilt serveren.) Zet een kommetje met de open kant naar beneden op een bord en schud even zodat de panna cotta uit de kommetjes vallen. Versier de panna cotta met de gekarameliseerde hazelnootjes en eventueel een klein scheutje Baileys.  Tip: Agar agar is een plantaardige vervanger van gelatine. Je kunt dit eventueel ook vervangen door 3 blaadjes gelatine. 

Sometimes you need a sweet tooth to take a bite out of crime . . . Bailey King is living the sweet life as assistant chocolatier at world-famous JP Chocolates in New York City. But just when Bailey’s up for a life-changing promotion, her grandmother calls with news that her grandfather’s heart condition has worsened. Bailey rushes to Harvest, Ohio, where her grandparents still run Swissmen Sweets, the Amish candy shop where she was first introduced to delicious fudge, truffles, and other assorted delights. She finds her grandfather is doing better than she feared. Unfortunately, the same can’t be said for a local Englisch developer, whom Bailey finds dead in the candy shop kitchen—with Jebediah King’s chocolate knife buried in his chest. Now the police are sweet on her grandfather as the prime suspect. Despite the sincere efforts of a yummy deputy with chocolate-brown eyes, Bailey takes it on herself to clear Jebediah. But as a cunning killer tries to fudge the truth, Bailey may be headed straight into a whole batch of trouble . . . Recipe Included! Product DetailsISBN-13: 9781496706393 Media Type: Paperback(Mass Market Paperback) Publisher: Kensington Publication Date: 08-29-2017 Pages: 352 Product Dimensions: 4.10(w) x 6.70(h) x 1.00(d) Series: Amish Candy Shop Mystery Series #1About the Author Amanda Flower, a three-time Agatha Award–nominated mystery author, started her writing career in elementary school when she read a story she wrote to her sixth grade class and had the class in stitches with her description of being stuck on the top of a Ferris wheel. She knew at that moment she’d found her calling of making people laugh with her words. She also writes mysteries as national bestselling author Isabella Alan. In addition to being an author, Amanda is a librarian in Northeast Ohio. Readers can visit her online at www.amandaflower.com.Read an Excerpt Read an Excerpt CHAPTER 1 "I still can't believe you left!" Cassandra Calbera shouted into my ear. "They're making the announcement Monday. You have to be here!" I held the phone away from my face and imagined my best friend standing in the middle of Jean Pierre's test kitchen in the back of JP Chocolates in Midtown, New York. She'd be in her chef whites and have her short, purple and black hair pinned behind her ears to keep it out of her eyes. I prayed that she was alone, considering the direction of our conversation. The fewer people who knew I'd left the city, the better. While Cass continued to tell me all the reasons why I should immediately return to New York, I parked in the first spot I could find on Apple Street, which ran perpendicular to Main Street. Apple trees lined either side of the narrow lane. In the spring, they looked like flowering white torches marching up the road, forming a beautiful canopy. When I was a little girl, I had asked my grandfather why the apple trees never had any apples. He replied that the English residents of the village didn't like the apples because they made a mess on the street and sidewalk, so the Englishers made the trees sterile. At the age of five, I had no idea what sterile meant, but it sounded bad. "It is the Englisch way," he had said. "To change what Gott created into something more convenient." This late in September, the tree's leaves had turned yellow-gold, and a few fell to the sidewalk in the breeze that rolled over the green hills surrounding the village. "Bai, are you listening to me?" Cass demanded. I took a deep breath. "I explained to Jean Pierre before I left. This is a family emergency. My grandfather is sick. Jean Pierre understood. Besides, it's only Thursday. I'll be home in time for the announcement on Monday morning." "Jean Pierre might understand, but the selection committee will not. They're looking for any excuse to give that skunk Caden the head chocolatier job. Just because he's French, and they think it goes better with the brand of Jean Pierre's empire. Do you think I should run the mob just because I'm Italian?" "You probably wouldn't be bad at it." "First of all, that comment is both flattering and insulting. Second, you are completely missing my point." "What would that be?" I asked, rubbing my forehead and staring out the windshield of the rental car I had picked up at the tiny Akron-Canton Airport. There hadn't been much selection, and the inside of the car smelled faintly of stale cigarettes. The smell was giving me a headache. As I stared out the window, an Amish buggy clopped down the cross street. Inside, an Amish man with a long dark beard chatted with the Amish boy in the passenger seat. The boy was laughing. I couldn't be farther from Midtown if I tried. "Are you listening to me?" Cass asked. I blinked. I hadn't realized she was still talking. As much as I loved my best friend, she had a tendency to ramble when she was really passionate about a subject. "I'm listening," I lied. "You not being here the week before their final decision as to who will be Jean Pierre's replacement only makes it easier for them to give it to that jerk. Is that what you want?" "Jean Pierre won't let them do that." I had been Jean Pierre's first chocolatier and protégé for so long, that everyone, even me, assumed that I would be appointed as head chocolatier at JP Chocolates when Jean Pierre retired. "It's not Jean Pierre's decision," she argued. "When the chocolate company went public, all the power went to the board of directors, which is the selection committee. Sure, they may listen to Jean Pierre's suggestions, but they can do whatever they want." She wasn't telling me anything I didn't already know. I rubbed my temples. I had to get out of the car. "Cass, I'm not going over this again with you. My grandfather is ill. He's more important than some job." "It's not just some job, Bailey. You've been working for this for six years. Six years. Do you want to throw away all the thousands of hours you spent on perfecting your craft?" I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel. "Of course not." "Then, come back —" "Oh, Cass, can you hear me? You're breaking up," I said. "I'm way out in the country now ..." "Bailey? Bailey, can you hear me? Bai?" I hung up the phone. As a native New Yorker, Cass questioned cell phone reception anywhere west of Manhattan. I scrolled through my text messages for a response from Eric Sharp. Nothing. The last text messages had been from me to him, telling him I was heading to Ohio to visit my ailing grandfather, telling him I was at the airport, and telling him I had landed in Akron. No response to any of them. I reminded myself that between his two pastry shops, television show, and thousands of other obligations, Eric didn't have time to text his girlfriend, especially since he and I were the only ones who knew we were dating. I threw the phone into my purse. Despite Eric's impossible schedule, a short "thinking of you" text would have lifted my spirits considerably, because I was pretty certain Cass was right. My rash decision to drop everything and fly to Ohio did put my promotion to head chocolatier at JP Chocolates at risk. I shook my head. I'd had no other choice. When my grandmother had called to tell me my grandfather was ill, I had to go. My grandmother only called if it was an emergency. The Amish didn't use the telephone for chitchat. Through the windshield of my rental car, I watched as a second horse-and-buggy rolled by. I had told Cass that I was in the country; I hadn't told her I was in Amish Country. The village of Harvest in Holmes County, Ohio to be specific. I wasn't sure what my fashionable coworker would have said if she knew I had Amish relatives. She'd probably wonder if I had a bonnet hidden somewhere in my apartment. My grandparents might be Amish, but I wasn't. Neither were my parents. My father had grown up Amish and then left his district to marry my mother. Right now, Mom and Dad were having the very un-Amish adventure of traveling through Europe to celebrate their thirtieth wedding anniversary. Judging by the number of vacation photos in my email inbox, I could safely say that Mom and Dad had mastered the selfie and were on a personal mission to snap a photo of themselves with every major landmark in Europe. The last one I had received included the Leaning Tower of Pisa. I took a deep breath and stepped out of the car. I would have to buy an air freshener if I was going to spend any significant amount of time in the rental car, or risk asphyxiation. As I walked to the corner of Apple and Main Street, I hoped that Daadi and Maami would be happy to see me. My grandparents didn't know I was in town. My grandmother had called to tell me Daadi was ill, but she'd asked me not come. She said Daadi would not wish me to leave my work on his account. I turned the corner onto Main Street, passing an Amish woman pushing a double stroller. Two plainly dressed toddlers sat in the stroller, kicking each other with their small feet. The mother said something to them in Pennsylvania Dutch. The children giggled, and I felt myself relax. I had made the right decision. The selection committee members wouldn't change their minds about choosing me as the head chocolatier just because I took a couple of vacation days that were owed me. I hadn't taken a single day off from work since last year, when Jean Pierre had announced his planned retirement. Main Street was the primary shopping district in the tiny village of Harvest, Ohio. Gas-powered lamps marched down the street, alternating with more apple trees, and store fronts advertised Amish-made products — everything from quilts to baskets to pretzels and brooms. Returning here felt like stepping back in time. Not into a former century, as many people misperceived the Amish culture, but into a bustling community of shops and merchants, where clothes and home goods and foods were locally harvested and handmade. Cass would be horrified — there wasn't a Starbucks or a department store in sight. Me, I rather