Recently I had a tryst with an old flame. No, ‘old flame’ is not quite right. You see, I’ve mindlessly used him many times over the years--even recently--meeting him most often in dark movie houses. On rare, more daring occasions we met in my bedroom, on nights when I admit I much more anticipated my latest Netflix delivery or guilty-pleasure TV show. He was always a second thought; an accompaniment; a reliable, cheap snack I held back from enjoying fully, lest I spoil the more respectable dinner waiting for me at home.
But this night was different. I was alone. . .insatiable, yet I longed for something more substantial, more fulfilling. . .more memorable. Suddenly, and for the first time, I saw him in a new light. The idea seemed so silly given our past dealings, that I needed some kind of sanity check before making the call. I did what one does when faced with such a crisis. I grabbed my phone, and desperately tweeted:
No one did (talk me out of it), but when shortly thereafter I received an inquisitive tweet from none other than the brilliant Amy Ephron (“What does homemade mean?”, “Did you grow and dry the corn, or do you just mean ‘not microwaved’?”, “Recipe, please?”), I knew I was on to something, and that there was no turning back.
Every Sunday I roast a few chicken breasts (bone in, skin on). It’s easy. Having shredded chicken in the kitchen at all times prevents me from randomly eating empty calories during the week. Plus, having pre-cooked, roasted chicken on hand, gives me lots of inspiration for one pot meals.
Little Gracie had been feeling under the weather all day Wednesday. She had no interest in running and playing, choosing to curl up and sleep for most of the day. And, she was coughing.
The year was 1996. I had just moved to San Francisco from Chicago,
finally ridding myself of those long midwest winters and trading them
in for even colder summers in the Bay Area. All joking aside, it was an
eye-opening experience for me and one that I embraced fully. I absorbed
the California experience on every level and tasted my way through the
City, spending Saturday mornings at the old farmers’ market before it
moved to the Ferry Building and familiarizing myself with local foods
and personalities.
Wow, what a Thanksgiving feast we had. A house full of family and friends, warm hearts, lots of smiles and very happy children. The food...stellar, as several women from the same family came together to
make a feast for twenty-something people, one I will not soon forget. 