Every time I step into a meat market, I think of my mom. I can’t count the times I impatiently waited as she stood in front of the clear glass that separated her from rows of raw meat. As the butcher stood on the other side of the meat case waiting for her order, she examined the ground beef and the red, marbled roasts.
She carefully inspected the pork chops and the loins. The beef she would eventually purchase must have just the right amount of marbling running through. The pork must have enough fat to give it flavor and keep it moist as it cooked.
Somehow, my antsy behavior in all of those meat markets I frequented with my mother has made a complete turn-around over the years. I’ve become my mother. Meat markets and chocolate shops (she couldn’t pass up a Fanny Farmer store) are high on my list of places I love to visit.
Last week I had the opportunity to stop into Steve’s Meat Market in Ellendale, Minn. Owner, Donnavon Eaker, was busy helping a customer as I stepped into the smokehouse-scented store.
“Having steaks on the grill tonight?” the petite Eaker asked her customer as she added up the cost of the meat purchase. The happy customer shared her plans for that day’s meat purchase and walked out with a hefty bag of meat.
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. 
I'm calling this a pie. Yes, it resembles a quiche, but I prefer to call it a pie. It seems more manly that way. Plus I wanted a more rustic looking version that does not require rolling anything out or having to make actual dough.
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.
Some of our most childlike instincts turn out to be the best ones: wanting a