The biggest problem with dating an ultra-runner is how unimpressive your small, daily achievements seem in comparison. My boyfriend, Shannon, ran 8 ultra-marathons (marathons longer than 26.2 miles) in 2012, bringing his race and training mileage to around 3500 miles in just one calendar year. 3500 miles- the distance from New York to Los Angeles, on foot.
I’m still in a great deal of denial about the whole thing.
One of the perks of dating an ultra-runner, however, is that you get to cheer them on in some truly amazing places. This past January, we traveled to Hawaii so he could compete in one of the hardest ultra-marathons in the world; The H.U.R.T. 100 Mile Endurance Run.
“Compete” is actually the wrong word. Most 100 mile races are so challenging that the runners try to concentrate more on finishing than finishing first. I learned a lot on this trip while listening to racers tell stories about how desperately they wanted to quit mid-race but reached deep within themselves and found the emotional and physical fortitude to continue on.
But wait a minute. Back to me.
I can never tire of a rustic dessert, especially one made with fresh, perfectly ripe peaches. Fruits like these when at their peak always make the difference, turning a ho-hum dessert into a spectacular one. I'd like to think that peach desserts are an American specialty, particularly a Southern one. There is the traditional peach cobbler, peach crisp, and peach crumble. There are also the peach pie and tart. But when simply baked on a pan with the edges of the dough turned over, you have what the French call a galette and the Italians a crostata. An extra crispy crust sets the galette or crostata apart from pies and tarts.
February is zipping right by. The days are getting longer, the sun is shining, the temps have been mild. I’m enjoying a mid-winter high. In just a couple of weeks, though, March will arrive with gray days, dirty snow, more snow, ice — all things that make the month of March in Minnesota my least favorite time of the year.
After cooking up a bunch of boneless and skinless chicken thighs the other day, I decided to turn some of them into chicken a al king. I don't know what made me think of this dish from the past – white sauce with chicken and vegetables stirred into it. For one thing, I've never really cared much for it. It brings back bad memories of creamed chipped beef and canned peas that my mom used to make when I was a child. She'd serve it over toast. The peas were mushy, the toast was soggy and the chipped beef was – well – chipped beef. I did not like it. Not one bit.
Babka (cake) is a big part of my childhood memories. If you don't know what babka is, I guess the best way to describe it is a very spongy, brioche-like yeast cake. It's sweet and usually has a fruit filling such as golden raisins. It's a very dense cake and the dough can be very finicky and easily over-mixed.