Occasionally, I find fresh peas at our farmer’s market. And I pay for them. They’re not cheap. But there is something rhythmic about shelling peas. There is an anticipation that these peas will taste so much better than what I get at the grocery store because they are so fresh! I imagine all sorts of incarnations for them. I put effort into spotlighting them in my dishes. And I’m always disappointed. Continue reading →
I’m having a flashback. I was 10 years old sitting in the family room at Myne and Granddad’s house. We had set up the card table and were playing Rummikub – like gin rummy but with numbered tiles. In between games, Myne warmed a pot of her home-made fudge sauce and spooned it into bowls of vanilla ice cream — one of my favorite treats. Granddad loved it too. Though he’s been gone for more than 20 years, I can still hear Granddad’s drawl, calling me, “dahh-lin’”. It’s weird the way it all comes back to you. Having her fudge sauce now, still conjures those images.
And the hits just keep on-coming… Monday evening, when I arrived to pick Emily up from her Flag Football game, she was balancing herself on her left leg with the foot of her right leg barely touching the ground — just enough so that she could stand. She half-limped/half-hopped to the car and climbed in. Apparently, during the game, she had collided with one of her teammates while they were both trying to grab a flag. Of course, the other girl walked away with nary a scratch.
Yesterday was one of those days. Sunday. A day to relax. Scott and I were planning to spend time in the backyard, doing a little yard work, catching up on our reading, snoozing and generally loafing around. Of course the weatherman had other ideas. Dark clouds loomed and within 10 minutes of my first sip of coffee, we had our first of several brief-but-intense downpours. It put a general gloom on the day. Don’t-cha just hate that?
Beef tenderloin. Lobster. Prime rib. Leg of lamb. Proteins that command attention, if for nothing but their price per pound. They are evocative of celebrations — a holiday, wedding, birthday or some noteworthy festivity. Both my French and Scottish grandparents made lamb for special occasions, as did my parents. Usually a leg of lamb — enough to feed a crowd. I loved it. I still do. Continue reading →