Just before I left for the airport Monday morning, I stopped short and ran back inside, not because I forgot my power cord or business cards or anything normal like that, but to make myself a turkey sandwich. My flight left late, of course, and by the time I had time to unwrap my semi-smooshed last bit of home-cooked anything, I was so hungry, I was ready to ask the 18-month-old next to me to share one of his drooled-upon teething biscuits. Proust may have had his madeleine and my husband may have his pickled green tomatoes, but I had that turkey sandwich and in the one bite I allowed myself before the drink cart finally brought me something to wash it down with, I had found a happiness I didn’t know could exist at the front end of a much-dreaded three day business trip to a nine-acre enclosed glass pod.
May, 2007 Archive
Today, I have failed you as a food blogger. I’m not proud. I cooked and cooked, we and our loved ones ate like kings, there was not a single recipe that shouldn’t be archived and returned to and yet, in the whirl of things we forgot to pick up the camera. (Hangs head in shame.) You get no photographic evidence of the shredded hash browns, chive biscuits, egregious amount of thick-cut maple-cured bacon, baked almond-orange French toast, insanely spicy bloody marys, plain yogurt I flavored myself with real vanilla and just a pinch of sugar. You’re just going to have to trust me that it was grand.
Oh my god, people. Just OMG. Let’s just make this one succinct, for once? Surely, I am capable of concise thought, right? These muffins are the shockingly good. Make them.
Flashback: The Great February Pickle-athon: Inspired by Cathy’s fantastic account about pickling Brussels sprouts with fennel fronds on Serious Eats, I decided it time that I go beyond the giardiniera and the lightly-soused red onions and into the great thereafter of vacuum seals and factory-like precision. Of course, I didn’t use her recipe–why would I do that? I knew it would work! What fun could that be?–but one I’d seen several pickle junkies swear by on Chowhound.
I gotta tell you–I get so boring in the summertime. As soon as that warm weather hits and a bright blue sky becomes de rigeur and not something worth stopping the presses over, any near-religious attraction I had to the shiny and the new goes into hibernation until the fall. Do I want to start a sourdough that will take seven days to make? Well, since you asked, not really. How about that baked pasta dish that been buzzing like a bee in my bonnet for weeks? Um, well, maybe. If it rains or something and there’s nothing else to do. Do I want to try some new, crazy variant on a classic cake with cardamom? No, no, no!