The fresh cranberry gets no love. I can’t tell you how many recipes I have sifted through recently that boasted cranberry in their titles only to find out that they were actually calling for those shriveled and over-sweetened dried ones. Why must fresh cranberries be “the neglected stepchild of the season“? It is totally undeserved.
Right on the heels of getting caught up from our last weekend away we skipped town again this past weekend, this time in celebration of (I was going to say that I hope you’re sitting down for this, but I suspect it is only us who are bowled over by these numbers) our three-year wedding anniversary and our five-year dating anniversary. Whoa.
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.
The things I do for you people! Well, okay, I do them for me, and rather transparently most of the time, but sometimes, sometimes like perhaps during season in which one is upping the ante on output and is concerned about this ante’s effect on quality, I’m fairly certain I’m going a little further than I typically would. What I mean is, on Sunday night, as excited as I was about this new cookbook we purchased and pleased with the outcome of our lentil stew, I couldn’t quit while I was ahead and also baked the orange cranberry scone recipe, to bring to work on Monday. Yes, I spoil my coworkers rotten.