A line in one of our favourite holiday movies is:
“Pesto is passé!”
No way. Not possible.
A line in one of our favourite holiday movies is:
“Pesto is passé!”
No way. Not possible.
My gardening skills are weak, mostly because I can’t leave things alone. I am forever picking the pea pods, cherry tomatoes, or basil to nibble, leaving very little for a decent harvest.
It’s pathetic, I know, but I am “pintrest-challenged”. Any pinning I do is to my bulletin board. Instead, I have several folders stuffed with ideas – a green folder for gardening, black for home decor, and red for recipes. Most of these ideas come from magazines, newsletters, friends, and even pages ripped out of old church cookbooks.
There are buds on the trees, the temperature remained above freezing last night, shoots from several flowering bulbs have emerged, yet it’s chilly enough to want to sit by the fire and sip some soup. (Lots of S’s there!)
Have you ever gotten one of those instant headaches? You know, where you think your brain might just explode? And then you realize that you’ve just leaned over a pan of vodka cream sauce, and the alcohol evaporated into your skull? Not that I’ve ever done that, of course……
Although I have never been to Tuscany – it’s on my bucket list – foods based on the Tuscan tradition of simplicity, availability, quality, and economy seem to fit perfectly with my style of cooking. And eating.
William Cowper wrote a poem titled “The Task” in 1785 that includes the idiom, “Variety is the very spice of life, that gives it all its flavour.” How that applies in cooking is obvious, and this recipe absolutely nails it.
I have a secret weapon. Yes, I do. And since I am feeling very generous – probably because my tummy is full and my tongue is happy – I will share that secret with you.
One of the coolest things is reaching that stage in life when your children become your friends. Parents no longer need to constantly be teaching their kids, but can instead learn a few things from them.
While visiting my sister in Alaska a few years ago, we stopped at Ship Creek to throw in a line on our way to the airport to catch our flight home. The last thing we expected was to hear a shaky and excited “Fish On!” coming from my husband.