bkfst pizza 0715

What was left of the breakfast pizza after four women and two kids filled up.

Got a throng in the house for breakfast? Fed people breakfast strata until you’re sick of breakfast strata? Tired of cycling batter through the waffle iron?

I give you the breakfast pizza.

This thing is just about guaranteed to please picky eaters, as long as they like sausage, eggs and cheese. (Who doesn’t? Few people I know.)

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December 27, 2016

M'mmm. Recycled breakfast. Sheer brilliance, if I did come up with it myownself.

M’mmm. Recycled breakfast. Sheer brilliance, if I did come up with it myownself.

Because, well, sometimes, you bring home carryout you just don’t want right then. And when you can recycle last night’s dinner into this morning’s breakfast, that’s a win any way you look at it.

Yesterday, after Child A and I made a pilgrimage to the nail salon for post-Christmas manicures and pedicures, she decided we were hungry. Now, I did not really think I was hungry, but by the time I got the 1,000 feet from the nail salon to the Steak Escape drive-through, I was hungry. And a cheesesteak sounds marginally healthier (not that I’m sure why) than do most fast food offerings. So I ordered a small steak, no peppers, on wheat bread.

And then I saw they had loaded baked potatoes, with bacon and cheese. OK, I needs me one of those. Got that, too.

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Lunch at home

August 24, 2016

A lunch that's damned hard to beat.

A lunch that’s damned hard to beat.

One of the good things about working from a home office, in addition to being able to cook things that take a long period of inactivity punctuated with periodic tasks, like breadbaking, or doing laundry, is that you get to rummage through the fridge for what can be a great lunch.

Like the one above. I mean, homemade pimiento cheese, bacon, and a backyard tomato, on homemade wheat bread. Just doesn’t get much better than that.

As an aside, one of the great things about being a Southerner is that you’re brought up with pimiento cheese. Not that nasty grocery store kind, either; the real, honest-to-god stuff with cayenne pepper in it that is the stuff of wonders. I need to get my gas grill bottle refilled so I can grill burgers with pimiento cheese on top, come to think of it.

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Here’s another check-mark in the “good” column about my (relatively) new home town of Jonesboro, Arkansas.

Its Community Foundation annual fundraiser is selling slabs of smoked Alaskan salmon.

Get yet smoked salmon, and help the community at the same time.

Get yet smoked salmon, and help the community at the same time.

As in, they procure whole bunches of salmon from somewhere — I say it’s Alaska, but I don’t know that for sure — and someone who is an aficionado of curing and smoking things cures and smokes it. Bunches of it. Large bunches of it. Hundreds of pounds of it. And they sell it.

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The day after photo. Probably looked better yesterday.

The day after photo. Probably looked better yesterday.

I was cooking dinner for a friend Sunday afternoon, and happened upon a gluten-free version of a favorite dessert that’s been featured on this blog, but not made in a while.

I had taken advantage of the confluence of blueberry and strawberry season at the Farmers Market, and had both. I decided I wanted a dessert that featured both, indeed celebrated both.

So I decided on a blueberry clafouti, topped with strawberries and whipped cream. It became gluten free, a fact I did not realize until this evening, when I dished up a leftover serving of it, when I inadvertently forgot the flour.

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It looks kinda like the cat threw it up, but it's good.

It looks kinda like the cat threw it up, but it’s good.

My Memphis Guinea Pig was over a weekend or so ago, because I’d emailed him and said I was in the notion for experimental cookery and needed a taster. It never takes him long to make his decision to make the drive over.

He got here late Friday, so we made do with some Chinese chicken and corn soup, the recipe for which I had found through the Dark Side of the Fridge blog. It was the first time I’d made it, but I had roasted a chicken a few days earlier, and had lots o’ chicken left over.

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My dinner tonight — caprese salad. New son’s dinner tonight (he who will not approach a raw tomato in any shape, form or fashion) — frozen lasagna. We are both well-satisfied.

My cooking is taking a much more pedestrian turn since I’ve acquired this teenager. He is suspicious of most stuff that goes beyond meat and potatos. So, being unwilling for the most part to cook dual meals, and since Child C  and CCRB’s tastes are closer to his than mine, I’ve toned down some of the more adventurous kitchen exploits. Plus, I’ve been gone. And busy when I was home.

I’d planned on fish tonight — had some cod fillets, which I’d thawed in the fridge overnight — but a late afternoon at work and some painful bruised ribs put me out of the notion to do anything that looked like that much work. I was going to do part of the fillets in a panko crust, and the others in a miso glaze a la Nobu, and cook some rice and steam some edamame and call that dinner, but even that was more work than I felt up to doing. So I picked up a Stouffer’s lasagna, because the 15-year-old kid ain’t been made that doesn’t love Stouffer’s lasagna, and I sliced myself up a tomato, some mozzarella, and some fresh basil.

Life is good.

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