Happiness. It's relative.
On the kitchen counter, there is a plastic bag full of freezer burn and what might possibly be remnants from a Thanksgiving turkey, year unknown. Next to the turkey bag is a small plastic refrigerator contained filled with something red. There is no label.… Continue Reading “Waiting for the Dinner Bell”
The glue of our marriage is cooking. This is especially true now that we are under a Stay at Home order. We talk about breakfast the night before like we’re planning a Thanksgiving dinner for twelve people. I’m figuring out that the trick to… Continue Reading “The Pot on the Stove”
On the topic of soup. I’m making chicken soup for my daughter who is sick with a cold. She is napping. While she has been napping, I have eaten a bowl of cheese puffs, a slice of actual cheese, a slice of turkey, three… Continue Reading “Making Up for Lost Soup”
Every now and then, on no particular schedule, when I think I should or when I feel the need for total immersion in a task that is immediate and elemental, I do meal prep. Meal prep is what Street Angels calls preparing and packaging… Continue Reading “The Peculiar Zen of Meal Prep”
My mother didn’t make pancakes. She made pancake. She would ask if I wanted her to make pancakes, but then she would produce a single pancake, a pancake the exact dimension of our cast iron frying pan. It was a thick, serious piece of… Continue Reading “99 New: Sustenance”
At one time, my signature dish was canned ham and this pie. The hams were pedestrian, triangular, no fail. Although once I dropped one on the kitchen floor and it went skidding while my husband’s boss and his wife were in the other room.… Continue Reading “Mow Me Some Dinner”