Well, this post has nothing to do with food. It is all about me having to express my emotions. It’s something that every parent goes through but especially every mom. My baby’s first steps into the outside world and away from me. You see, even though the Little Man is not quite two years-old, he is leaving me.
In my last post, I said that I was going to try the Red Borscht, again. But this time I was going to try to make a crockpot version of it. Well, here’s the thing. It seemed to take just as much time, and it didn’t quite turn out the same. It still tasted good. Just a little different. This one turned out a little more red, while the other one turned out a little more purple. See.
I am from Portland, Oregon. I love my hometown. It’s a wonderful place. It has a ton of beautiful green trees and colorful flowers thanks to all of the rain. It’s called the City of Roses for a very good reason. It also has fabulous food. In fact, I have recently found out that there is great gluten free food all over the place there. I really need to get into town and try some the next time I am up there. I, also, love how many galleries are all around. I miss First Thursdays. Gallery hopping and wine drinking all evening on the first Thursday of every month. Then there is my favorite: all of the professional sports teams. Oh, wait a second. Never mind.
That was a great story, but why, oh why did I write about it?
Well, I really wanted to write about a recipe that I found on the internet and changed a little to fit our needs. The dish I made actually reminds me of the above dish, but I thought the story sounded much more interesting than: I was trying to find something to do with this chard I got in our Friday Farm Fresh produce box, so I surfed the web… I just thought that was too boring.
Anyway… I was trying to find something to do with this chard I got in our Friday Farm Fresh produce box, so I surfed the web…
My mother-in-law is half Irish. My father-in-law is also half Irish, which makes my husband half Irish. But this is about my mother-in-law. I have been with my husband for over 10 years, and almost every year on Saint Patrick’s Day, if we were in the same city as my mother-in-law, we would have corned [...]
I have such strong, fond memories of food. When I was little, I remember coming home from school and opening the door of my house to the smell of freshly baked chocolate cupcakes. The smell was so warm and enveloping. It would carry me down the hall and into the kitchen, where my mom was putting the last touches of icing on. She would be standing there in her apron with a tall glass of cold milk in one hand and a warm cupcake in the other. She’d have a huge smile on her face and ask me how my day was. O.K. Ummmmm… So right now, my mom is wondering who’s blog she accidentally clicked on or what strange, crazy drugs is her daughter taking.