May 10, 2013
I don’t have photos of last night’s dinner. It was one of those that had a lot of prep work but the dishes mostly came together at the last minute, and then it was time to eat, not take pictures. Sorry. It was good, and it was relatively attractive, too.
I’d invited a couple of friends, one of whom is engaged in a huge renovation/construction/business opening project at the same time as the other is preparing to stage a 10-day music festival (Oh! to be young again and have that kind of energy!) over for dinner. I’d thought about German food, as they’re both beer connoisseurs, but it had gotten warm, and, well, I hadn’t had any good Asian food in a while. So I hit three countries with a dinner that featured okonomiyaki, fried rice and bahn mi lettuce wraps, and added a side of steamed snow peas in sesame sauce, for good measure, before finishing up by a return to the South with strawberry shortcake.
May 9, 2013
One of the culinary marvels of Arkansas is the Arkansas strawberry (there are two quarts of them, macerating in sugar and balsamic vinegar, in my fridge right now. Whether you eat it with creme fraiche (my preferred treatment), with whipped cream, in a strawberry pie, in a fruit bowl, covered with chocolate, whatever — for these few brief weeks in the spring, there is just not much that’s any better.
And every Arkansan, indeed every Southerner, grew up with a version of strawberry shortcake, the dessert so ubiquitous it spawned its own, very cheesy, doll. The shortcakes differ from region to region, cook to cook.
April 9, 2013
On the road. Cooking at a friend’s in E. Ark. tonight. Home tomorrow. You ‘n y’mama ‘n ‘em play nice.
March 22, 2013
No cooking. Long day. Long week. Scotch and Cheerios for dinner.
Likely no, or little, cooking tomorrow. Got to go to the Rock.
Might cook Sunday. Might not. Check with you ‘n y’mama ‘n ‘em then.
February 28, 2013
Tell y’mama ‘n ‘em hey for me.
February 16, 2013
Had my foster son visiting me, and I asked him what he’d like me to cook for him. He thought for a minute, and said, “Chili.”
Well, OK. I can do that. Matter of fact, I’m not certain but what this may be the first pot of chili I’ve made all winter. I’m happy to say I haven’t lost my touch.
I laid out two pounds of buffalo and one pound of ground beef to thaw before we went to bed. Next afternoon, I browned it up, sauteed an onion and a half and a fist-full of garlic cloves, and dumped that all in the pot with three cans of tomatos, two cans of drained pinto beans, a can of Ro-Tel tomatos and green chilis, a bottle of beer and a whole heap of spices.
February 10, 2013
Hot-lanta bound. Had a post ready to write last night, ran out of time and enthusiasm (kinda like the Hogs at Vandy yesterday). Will write it when I get back. Meanwhile, you ‘n y’mama ‘n ‘em play nice.
January 31, 2013
Please note, in the photo caption: I have a major problem with right and left. I have them reversed. Carry on.
Most of us have, at one time or another, had occasion to peel a hard-boiled egg.
Maybe it was potato salad, maybe it was deviled eggs, maybe it was leftovers from Easter, maybe it was you just had a notion to pickle some or make some egg salad.
Those of us who are fond of farm fresh eggs, know that those little buggers are tougher to peel. We also know they taste marvelous. So we accept egg white outer surfaces that look like they’re beset with cellulite (really, only an issue if you’re deviling the little critters, or maybe slicing them for a garnish).
I am here to tell you ’n y’mama ‘n ‘em you can have the best of both worlds.
December 31, 2012
I won’t be sorry to see you go. You’ve been a traumatic year, full of emotional and mental, personal and professional, turmoil. But you’ve brought me some wonderful stuff, too; to-wit, two brand new grandchildren, the second of which is three days old today.
I have three grandbabies under the same roof right now, and I am here to tell you, it is a pretty marvelous feeling. Saying goodbye to one of them later tonight, as he and his mama, Child C, and daddy head back to their home. I’ll be staying here with the other two for the rest of the week.
Three grandbabies. THREE grandbabies! Three GRANDbabies! Dear Sweet Baby Jesus. Was I not just 21 about six months ago?