tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-84289928267755944502024-03-19T00:25:26.909-04:00clare's words, and salt.Words of food and the life that surrounds it.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger22125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8428992826775594450.post-37638815261772238122011-02-26T18:15:00.001-05:002011-02-26T18:21:56.334-05:00Too lateSo for days I've been carrying around thoughts in my head, wanting to put them here, and then at the same time, not wanting to. Because I need to make up for lost time. For you. <br />
<br />
And here it is, all written out:<br />
<br />
I don't really know what I want. I want to be able to go to work, feeling productive researching literature for my long-term, temporary, free-willing job at the office I have to make a call every morning to get into. About this job: I get to spend as much as, or more than, eight hours a day under the guise of 'research,' but really, I'm reading. I'm reading with the intent of locating pieces of classic and important literature appropriate for tenth graders in my state. Not for their curriculum, but for their end-of-year assessments. I pick the literature, and after it's gone through a long weeding-out process, someone writes the questions. And this all happened to me just because my mom happened to be in a room where someone was looking for an English major. And she thought of me. I didn't even have to interview. <br />
<br />
And it's not the only search and research I have right now, not at all. Of course there's this other volunteer job for a fantastic nonprofit, but that's not it, either. I should say that it seems like I'll be here in Raleigh for a while. The job's not going anywhere, even if it is on a temporary basis. And I'm connecting with old friends, which is so thrilling. But the real search which gets me, which made me stop researching (a bona fide bonus of my work is spending time in the university stacks) is the connecting with New People part. I'm finding out that I'm not so good at that. And especially when it's boys. Boys you meet at parties and talk to because you found that you can. But then realize you don't know how to keep talking to them, without giving the wrong idea. Because I'm not good at this. And I'm not interested in giving the wrong impression. And deep down inside I know that I, and so many other man-I's out there, just want a real connection. But do you turn away or become indifferent if it isn't something you want to spark? And how should I already decide that? Because I had some wrought-out idea of what a spark is?<br />
<br />
Perhaps it just means that I need to put myself out there, at more parties and more let-me-introduce-myself moments. Perhaps so that I can see past my own nose and see hearts and noses that don't involve me, so that I don't make it all about me. So that it doesn't feel so heavy when I try to not make it about me but all the signs point back, again. <br />
<br />
Even if I'm slow going, this is life. This is a constant meet and share, hold and release, here and not.<br />
<br />
And just being a friend is more than words will ever have to be.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8428992826775594450.post-28491913274487862732011-02-07T23:33:00.000-05:002011-02-07T23:33:04.519-05:00Image of ProcrastinationSometimes brilliant ideas come to us after we've been around a while and have seen something we can't forget. Or, can't forget the taste of. When for five or so months, we've been able to reason with ourselves to get it while it's good, while it's still there. To support something and put our money where our mouth is.<br />
Something good enough that we make excuses for things we need in town, just so we can get reasonably close enough that we might as well stop, since we're in the neighborhood.<br />
<br />
I'm talking, of course, of donuts. Of delicious donuts not found on every grocery store shelf or known by their name across the country. I'm talking of a place called Krumpe's, which isn't pronounced krump's, like I first exclaimed. It's a more like krumpy's, and it's more like amazing. <br />
<br />
It used to be that the things we loved we had to work for and wait until they were ready. Until they sprouted from the ground, until their buds blossomed. Like ice cream in the summer, when we have forgotten what it feels like to be cold. Like asparagus in the spring, when the shoots are so tender they can be plucked straight from the stalk and eaten in hand. <br />
<br />
Perhaps that is why I so quickly grew to love Krumpe's donuts: I couldn't find them just anywhere at on any given whim. They were vailable when they were fresh, and that meant after 7 p.m. It also meant that I couldn't go on Saturday evening, because the donuts are made during the night, and Saturday evening is their night off to rest for Sunday morning. I was so stuck on them that sometimes I would forget that, and instead find a dimly lit drive, with its normal bustle of cars and people. <br />
<br />
I loved the donuts because I had to drive down Donut Alley to get to them; for more than fifty years they have been on this same small street. I love them because they are melt-in-your-mouth delicious on their own, and even better with peanut butter frosting or filled with cinnamon apples. They are still sold at the counter by clerks wearing paper deli hats, and it is probable you will see the expert donut makers so skilled at their work that you can hardly see in what direction their hands are moving. And, although I was often alone on my trips to the donut capital, I was surrounded by generations of fellow donut lovers, buying a dozen and eating half of them before they even left the parking lot. My love for these donuts is so strong that I went to the only gas station I know to sell them and happily gobbled down four day-old donuts in a twenty-minute drive. They are that good. <br />
<br />
And, when I returned to North Carolina, one of the first stops I made was to Krispy Kreme--the reigning donut king in these parts. I went when the hot donuts sign was on, but they weren't the same. They didn't melt the same way in my mouth, and their taste was good but not you-have-to-come-back-soon extraordinary. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJYr-PA2Zzap1iQ79lUib8rcsBY3k2iZgF9hXa2HGqekPXWMBD4fmwaYYYApoMseTv6WWGNUIXahOjyzRd2MxseI-uccI0LOOeb16IbJ5vl_E9opjBbkWO_uHsFInTuvV51Hv6qQIGI2zp/s1600/IMAG0467.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" h5="true" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJYr-PA2Zzap1iQ79lUib8rcsBY3k2iZgF9hXa2HGqekPXWMBD4fmwaYYYApoMseTv6WWGNUIXahOjyzRd2MxseI-uccI0LOOeb16IbJ5vl_E9opjBbkWO_uHsFInTuvV51Hv6qQIGI2zp/s320/IMAG0467.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>So, as I often do, I tried my hand at baking some. I knew I wouldn't approach the deliciousness of the Krumpe's donuts--even a health-minded fellow knows that some things are just meant to be fried--but I can't afford to run out and get Krispy Kreme every week, either. What turned out was a baked dough, similar to a healthier, sugar-coated partial whole grain pastry when straight from the oven. At room temperature, it was denser and still sweet, but not the delicicacy you'd find at a small hole-in-the-wall bakery. I'm not ready yet to take out the fryer--that can of worms is perhaps best left in western Maryland, where delicious local donuts rule supreme. <br />
<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs-Gk3tb1gfN7rrb0xLUx7eSRM2BIQNi_edH3Wdl-qGQhvjueE5_tK9O9jMT26V7yBpm8_flzb6L37Fkb_boCipeoX5afwrdNCK1DU6hLPTrMCOaVdhFhDJqoikhaZ5Q1ckmJU91rGcwt9/s1600/IMAG0465.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" h5="true" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs-Gk3tb1gfN7rrb0xLUx7eSRM2BIQNi_edH3Wdl-qGQhvjueE5_tK9O9jMT26V7yBpm8_flzb6L37Fkb_boCipeoX5afwrdNCK1DU6hLPTrMCOaVdhFhDJqoikhaZ5Q1ckmJU91rGcwt9/s320/IMAG0465.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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You can find the recipe for these homemade baked donuts <a href="http://www.101cookbooks.com/archives/001561.html">here</a>.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8428992826775594450.post-40507421237822101682011-02-02T21:34:00.002-05:002011-02-02T21:51:20.469-05:00Practice makes perfectSince I know that I only have a few followers, one of whom asked me to continue writing, I am going to start writing again, here. I'm not making any promises about the depth or the grace or the fabulosity of what you'll find. Who knows what I might be writing about next week. Who knows if it will even be readable. Do words strung together always make sense? Is it like art? Like throwing all the dense or homogeneous objects against a wall, hoping that if they don't stick, they at least leave a reminder that they once tried to?<br />
<br />
In the foreseeable future, this blog will be something of an orifice, a snug deposit place, for some of my thoughts and frustrations with the current part of my journey. It will be a reason for me to always keep those fingers moving, typing, if even to continue patterns of adjacent keys on the keyboard--until a thought comes through the routine. For guidance I have next to me a stack of grammar books, programming books, blogging books (well, one) and pamphlets from the <a href="http://www.bu.edu/met/programs/graduate/gastronomy/">graduate</a> program I keep changing my mind about, but really <u>Do</u> want to attend. I thought perhaps I should learn something about HTML for future (or current) work; I have gotten really sloppy with my commas and semicolons and need to be reined back in. And, although I declared to a good friend (over beer, no less) that I really am happy to be in North Carolina, I'm not sure that I am. Of course, I am not working right now and it's not enjoyable to be anywhere (except for perhaps Berlin? the coast of Florida? with the hipsters in Portland?) when you're not working. And, when the bank account is quickly, quickly, emptying, and I cave to buy things like a <a href="http://usa.weleda.com/">Weleda</a> body oil sample kit--to make up for not buying them (I know, what was I thinking?) when I was in Germany. I also bought butter and sugar to make homemade baked doughnuts tomorrow (the dough can rise while I'm working on my resume Of Course) from Trader Joe's. I went into Whole Foods and left just as soon--what a madhouse. And is anything local? Not that Trader Joe's is, but I don't have to give the rest of my sad bank balance to shop there.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWgUAMFvUtZo0Fm1yH_X2E5Gy1m5GnJTMPeezyTSF55ex9KCe1UDTRB0EyiE2CwsnKP6HqDyM5GOyA8TVNNXLMfdioZeM92eXiLY9-pDT5rbcjPmnaFubs-LFSDVTJWdeCjYYSDfLaAlu4/s1600/IMAG0197.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWgUAMFvUtZo0Fm1yH_X2E5Gy1m5GnJTMPeezyTSF55ex9KCe1UDTRB0EyiE2CwsnKP6HqDyM5GOyA8TVNNXLMfdioZeM92eXiLY9-pDT5rbcjPmnaFubs-LFSDVTJWdeCjYYSDfLaAlu4/s320/IMAG0197.jpg" width="212" /></a></div>Sometime in the future, if you keep reading, I hope to upgrade from this simple format to something a little more advanced and snazzy. But my writing is not ready for everyone's eyes; I have time to learn how to publish HTML just in time for publishing my words. (Hopefully!) Sometime in the future. Just keep it in mind. <br />
<br />
<br />
And, for your clincher: thanks for reading this. It won't make you rich; it won't bring you happiness beyond your wildest dreams; it won't boil your dinner. But it will mean a lot to me, to know that you are there.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJSgDUSjjK7kVHUuyd_dokWlAwtE65mkRqbE_m81Xkhpf3lV_WejQ8TNBT5t3DnQzePycJmML1XjIBzt8lYM13ky23OW5ITffx58QDxwuLjMfTHaGUzYl6a9gNx20I1p7r2zF3rJpspqPE/s1600/claresushi.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJSgDUSjjK7kVHUuyd_dokWlAwtE65mkRqbE_m81Xkhpf3lV_WejQ8TNBT5t3DnQzePycJmML1XjIBzt8lYM13ky23OW5ITffx58QDxwuLjMfTHaGUzYl6a9gNx20I1p7r2zF3rJpspqPE/s320/claresushi.jpg" width="276" /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8428992826775594450.post-36719667377990828392010-02-25T18:08:00.000-05:002010-02-25T18:08:08.814-05:00Portland, ORSometimes, life just seems to work out: when we least expect it, opportunities and roads and sometimes even bridges fall from the outer sphere of our lives and make themselves right at home, where they hadn't been before. Especially, especially, when life seems to be drifting into tedium and lack brightness or edge; those are the moments right before the storm, if we keep a lookout.<br />
<br />
You see, it seems to often take us leaving our surroundings and our frustrations before we realize and finally see what had been right there in front of us the whole time, which we had not, in our oblivion, been able to decipher before. But then, it's a Pow and a Slam (think: old Batman tv shows) and all of a sudden, WE KNOW. We know the things we did not know just a few moments before. We can see clearly in front of our selves, just as though we finally got around to renewing our contacts prescription and oh yeah! this is what seeing is really like.<br />
<br />
For me, I keep forgetting and then remembering that I have to travel and Keep Moving in order to find or recall all or most of the things which are significant or momentous. This week, for instance, I'm traveling to Portland, OR to visit some wonderful friends nestled in the outer inner skirts of a city I've of recently found myself pining for. It doesn't help that my wise old uncle suggested to me that I should find love and stay here, when I had always mostly thought that the East coast was where I would be 'expected' to stay.<br />
<br />
But really, who is the one expecting? Is it I, who is expecting that others have something they expect to say? Or is it others, who expect me to figure it out on my own.<br />
<br />
Somehow, I feel that assuming is not the way to figure it out.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8428992826775594450.post-44982195080400231792010-02-25T17:31:00.000-05:002010-02-25T17:31:17.261-05:00ChristeningFirst of all, let's get one thing straight, before I actually get to the post I was planning on posting last week: This post is late. But really what I wanted to say<br />
<br />
is following:<br />
<br />
Currently, I live in the South. Not the Deep South (does anyone who lives there actually call it that? Deep Southerners?), but the medium South, where you can find biscuits easier than you can find homemade pasta and you can be sure that a country music star will not be left with an empty venue, ever.<br />
<br />
Also, because we are in the South, we don't usually have to deal with snow storms. Actually, that is only true for the eastern and central part of the state--Western North Carolina still has snow, and ice, and storms. Those of us in the east, we are not familiar with things such as snow mobiles and plows attached to the front of the truck. We know how to run to the grocery store and stock up on bread, milk, and junk food; we know how to stay home and watch movies until we explode.<br />
<br />
On that note, last weekend my sister and I decided to go to Myrtle Beach, SC. There was a marathon going on there, and we had a friend to cheer on. Plus, who would say no to a weekend trip to the beach, out of state?<br />
<br />
As we all know, in the last week 49 states received some sort of winter weather. SC, my dear friends, was not exempt. As we were driving down 95, getting close to the destination of our choice, we spotted those small, tiny flakes known as snow. They would get 'heavy' for a while, and then peter out. Then, just like hair-washing, the cycle would repeat itself.<br />
<br />
As we were getting closer to the beach, we finally arrived at My destination: the Lodge outlet store. Because in addition to cheering on my sister's friend, I was also going to undertake the important and daunting task of Purchasing My First Cast Iron. When I walked into the store, I felt something like joy, which many get when around babies or cute petite animals. There was cookware, everywhere! All kinds of little doo's and thingy's to keep anyone busy in front of their heat source of choice.<br />
<br />
After much deliberation, I finally settled on a 5 qt dutch oven, and an 8" skillet. The lid fits both perfectly and their heaviness is comforting in the hand. Best of all, they were 'seconds', which although pretty much impossible for an indestructible substance such as iron, equates to a lower price at the register.<br />
<br />
Now, all I have to do is christen them, and my journey will begin.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8428992826775594450.post-17498561985537326682010-02-08T13:50:00.000-05:002010-02-08T13:50:59.713-05:00MarylandLast weekend, my aunt and uncle stopped in. They had just been visiting my grandparents, where they were doing things such as taxes, making pizza, and ordering feasts. <br />
<br />
It is important to note that my grandparents have spent almost all of their married lives in the DC metropolitan area. Which of course means one thing:<br />
<br />
They love crabs.<br />
<br />
Any homegrown boy or girl from the Bay area would feel the same. After all, what's not to love about steamed crabs crusted with Old Bay, salt, and the seasonings of the sea?<br />
<br />
Nothing! <br />
<br />
And how then should I feel: as a goodish, elder-respecting, born-in-the-District, Maryland-loving, free-wheeling eater?<br />
<br />
Exactly the same way.<br />
I love crabs. Very, very much. So much that when I turned 21, all I wanted was just to eat crabs and drink the beer I was finally entitled to. And although I didn't have a chance to do these things exactly on my birthday, I was surprised with a brown, greasy bag and a 6 pack during a visit to my grandparents soon after. Thanks, dad! I had no idea you were going to find a crab-guy when you left abruptly; I just thought you were going out for a walk. <br />
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I repeated this ritual on my 23 birthday: good friends who were (and some still are) volunteering with me at <a href="http://www.camphillsoltane.org/">Camphill Soltane</a> noshed on crabs, beer, hushpuppies, and laughter. We happened to be in Chincoteague Island vacationing with the lovely men and women with whom we lived. Afterwords, we went next door for a fresh, homemade ice cream cone and I got two--it was my birthday after all!<br />
<br />
<br />
This past weekend didn't disappoint, either. My uncle brought three crabs in a cooler, covered with fresh snow (a la the 'snowmagggedon' in the Washingon area) the 300+ miles to the Raleigh area, where my family lives. I was touched that he remembered us; that he didn't just share with us the feast--she-crab soup, chowder, steamed crabs, fries, crabcakes, among other things--that took place at my grandparents house in Md. Instead, he brought us a taste of the delicious salty, soily crabs which we have been reared to love.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8428992826775594450.post-25902221574523965472010-02-01T13:06:00.001-05:002010-02-01T13:56:31.876-05:00Julia, Julia, Julia!Ever since discovering Julia Child, I've had something of a fascination with one thing:<br />
<br />
Poached eggs.<br />
<br />
I mean, how is it possible, to boil an egg, without the protective cover of a shell? Doesn't the egg just turn into egg-water, like rosary water but with more protein? How is it possible to make something solid, which is only half so, and delicate as a newborn at that?<br />
<br />
So, I finally decided to try it. I regularly make a scene in whatever kitchen I am current inhabiting, be it my parents', grandparents', friends', or one in <a href="http://www.camphillsoltane.org/">this</a> community where I used to live and volunteer. With that, what would make more sense then making one away from home, where everyone stands around and watches?<br />
<br />
Yeah. I couldn't do it either.<br />
<br />
Now, with the delicate cooking of a raw egg, one of the most important things (or to clarify, the only thing you really need, above all else) is an egg. And not just a drug-store egg; a fresh, I know-where-to-find-another egg. These days, it's either really easy to answer that call, or it isn't. Personally, I don't know anyone in the current perifory of my house who has chicken squatters. Luckily, <a href="http://www.thelionpotter.com/">this</a> place does, in addition to great pottery. And as <a href="http://clareswordsandsalt.blogspot.com/2010/01/sign.html">read</a>, I recently did some traveling. So, what would make more sense then coming home not only with a new outlook, a happy heart, a sandwich, but also some eggs? Nothing, I know.<br />
<br />
With my fresh eggs in luggage, and the inspiration of several food blog entries of some talented and interesting folks, I set to work. I used my love to simmer one inch of water. READ: cast iron skillet. I broke the egg into a small, glass pyrex dish, and waited. Soon, I saw the small bubbles at the bottom of the earthy pan, just as I had been instructed. Then, steam. Finally, small bubbles on the surface.<br />
<br />
Taking my knife, I stirred the water to create a whirlpool, as others had instructed. Then, holding my luck in my hand and the pyrex in the other, I slipped the egg into the pan. Waiting a second, and then stirring the water slowly, hoping for the best effect, I waited. It turns out, I didn't need to stir the water once the egg was submerged; instead of solidifying the egg, the stirring only released a lace-like stream of whites into the water. Still, I was hopeful.<br />
<br />
After a minute or two, I scooped the egg out, with a slotted spoon.<br />
<br />
And then, I ate it, with seedy toast.<br />
<br />
It was perfect. Oooey, gooey, yolk, surrounded by a solid, tender, white.<br />
<br />
The next time I made it, however, I didn't use the cast-iron skillet. Also, I didn't wait for the water to be hot enough. So what did I make?<br />
<br />
Egg-water.<br />
<br />
.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8428992826775594450.post-49720497417957858182010-01-31T13:16:00.002-05:002010-01-31T13:26:08.318-05:00colds, homemadeIn days of past, people put up all kinds of fruits and vegetables and remedies for one reason: to fill a need not yet foreseen but which, in due time, will exist. <br />
<br />
Apples can be stored in the cellar, and must be separated from the onions or they will start to taste the same. Tomatoes are juiced, canned, cooked down into sauce, reduced further into paste, and perhaps frozen. Onions and garlic are kept out of the sun, yet handy for all the warmness they bring to winter's fury. Fruit is frozen or put up in cans, juiced or covered with sugar alcohol and intended as a cordial.<br />
<br />
I knew yesterday morning that I was going to wake up sick when the night before I felt a little discomfort in the back of my throat. When I woke up, the one thing I wanted to complement my sister's strawberry waffles was my mother's blackberry cordial. <br />
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For me, berry cordials are deliciously good at two basic things: relieving a scratchy throat and giving one the excuse to slowly sip liquor from morning to night.<br />
<br />
My mother, although not the feisty young woman she was in college, is quite adventurous. She'll find a recipe for almost anything, and will not let an overabundance of yield damper her interest in finding a new way to prepare everything from the garden. One year, for example, we had so many onions that they fit side-to-side all around the balcony of our porch, with more in waiting. My mother is the one to call when the zucchini are coming out of your ears and you need something to do with them. She's great at finding obscure, interesting, and mostly delicious recipes to use almost anything. <br />
<br />
And now, this same woman took the berry harvest from the farm where my sister worked, and made cordial. Lots of it; in whiskey jars, canning jars, even small lady-figurine limoncello jars I bought in Sorrento <br />
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It could be said that most parents think ahead, and stock their pantries diligently. But most of the time, those medicine cabinets are full of over-the-counter syrups and gelled capsules, medicine cups and extra tissues.<br />
<br />
My mom was just doing what she could do, as she always does, with anything which can be saved. Ounces of leftovers do not make it past her watchful eye; surely you'll find them in the fridge, waiting. She likes sweet things, and made them, for fun, and keeps. Best of all, she made them to kick us back in gear, and able to enjoy all the rest of treats she will be found making.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8428992826775594450.post-67091258964798619882010-01-29T17:26:00.000-05:002010-01-29T17:26:38.277-05:00A signLast week, I did some traveling.<br />
<br />
As a rule, I would like to believe that I support my friends; that I would do whatever I can when they ask me for something. That when they ask me to be present at a meeting, or a seminar, I would attend and agree to their request without having to think about it.<br />
<br />
But then, when push comes to shove, and the facebook messages start piling up, what really happens?<br />
<br />
I wait. I deliberate. I try to figure out ways of being that good friend, but not being there, in a vulnerable position where others are able to ask questions of me--especially about my life Now.<br />
<br />
But in the end, all that took was a deadline. Being told that I had to give a definite answer by a certain date, and feeling that if my presence was enough to warrant a strict deadline, there was no way I could avoid it and still save face.<br />
<br />
So I informed my friend, on the deadline, that I was going.<br />
<br />
And now, of course, I'm so thankful for that. Attending allowed me to support a great, wonderful, energetic young woman and provided for me the opportunity to connect to all those lovely people who, it turns out, I was more than willing to talk about my 'Now' with. Saying 'yes' to my friend's request gave me the chance to remember how much I have shared in the past with so many people, and how great it is to hear kind words straight out of the mouths of friends, who happen to be standing exactly two feet away from me.<br />
<br />
And when I got home, after exuberant travels, what did I find? Nothing except for the Food section of the News and Observer, exactly in the path of my walk. And do you know what was so great about it? That all I found was one page, of nothing but recipes, food questions, and advice about cooking. Which, I may add, I wouldn't have found if I hadn't traveled away from home, come home and spent time thinking about the future, and then deciding a walk might help me to see things clearer. <br />
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And it did.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8428992826775594450.post-72171609646114629072010-01-11T22:22:00.002-05:002010-01-31T21:36:54.623-05:00Bread of LifePan de Vida? Have you had it? Do you know where I can get some? Because my bread-baking skills need something of an attitude adjustment.<br />
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Today, was a normal-ish day. I had a phone interview for <a href="http://www.clearspringcreamery.com/">this</a> Creamery. It's a funny thing about that creamery--the wife of the man whose family has passed down the ownership of the farm for over 100 years, this woman, she happens to have the same name as I do. With the same spelling and everything. How would that be, to go to work: "Hello Clare," Clare replied to Clare's early morning greeting, shared while milking twin cows or stirring the same pot of curds. Just another day. <br />
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I guess I should have preceded my anecdote with another one about my morning. I had a bright idea to make bread today. We ran out of the store-bought seedy multigrain bread that I like and I wasn't at all excited about more plain store-bought wheat bread with no seeds or nothin'! So I found a recipe, took out our R2D2 lookalike bread maker, and hit the grocery stores with my open wallet and reusable bag, although in hindsight two bags would have really hit the mark. I bought three kinds of flour, sunflower seeds, celery for great soup my sister made for dinner (I will only buy celery if it was someone else's idea!) and after my 12 pack of seltzer leaking all over me in the parking lot, after which I got my money back and a free 12-pack, I hankered home to start my bread-making bravado. It was great until I spilled yeast everywhere and had to start over. Then, after my phone call, in a bit of foolishness, I forgot to put in the rubber stopper. As far as I knew, everything was getting stuck in the bottom of the mixer, and not going into my bread! Lo and behold, I appropriately then forgot to jerry-rig the counter (necessary because the bread maker gets a little carried away while it's kneading) and well, it fell on the floor and made a huge noise. My bread dough popped out and now the bread machine does not fit happily together anymore. However, I finally had an opportunity to put the stopper back in!<br />
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So, since I broke the machine, I had to do it myself. Who would have ever seen that coming?<br />
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I must say, although the top is a little concave (weighed down by sunflower seeds which do not adhere easily, as thought) the bread is good.<br />
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In honor of my noble experience today, tomorrow I plan on making Dark Rye bread, from scratch.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8428992826775594450.post-24312290790396509662010-01-08T00:10:00.001-05:002010-01-31T21:38:08.026-05:00my piece will never look like your piece...To be in college, one needs to know something, or at least know that they would like to one day learn something. When you receive that padded envelope in the mail (do they still do that nowadays?) you are not automatically transfused with an abundance of knowledge about science or English or most importantly to the adults of the house, Your Future Job. You are just another person, moving along in the swarm of persons looking here and there for something, something, to find attachment with. And of all those who do not receive a padded envelope, or decide that at least for the moment, an envelope at all is what they currently want, I cannot speak. I cannot forget or politely pass them (you?) over, either.<br />
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For I could have been you, and you could have been me. The paths that we take are nothing less of extraordinary. How did I discover that I like what. I. like? How did you somehow come into yourself, as particular and unique as you are, without some detailed plan or synthesis? When life seems not to be detailed, but just a bumbling of moments and people and STUFF. <br />
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For most questions, I do not have the answer. I do know a few things, though, of perhaps nominal importance. Like how funny it is to not like beer and then all of a sudden, like it. Life is often like that: something comes around and it isn't at all what we think we like, and then all of a sudden, we can't live without it! (for long periods of time perhaps). And about the way seltzer water always makes me feel like I'm European--it's nothing short of amazing. Food comes from so many different places and soils and yards and tables and factories--and yet all of those places have their own story. Over the course of our lives, we develop a liking or repertoire of 'food likes' from so many different places, and more often than not, those 'likes' are very different from the person next to us.<br />
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Sometimes it's just amazing to me.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8428992826775594450.post-54946141257365943342010-01-06T20:58:00.002-05:002010-01-08T00:01:08.130-05:00Cookies to write home aboutWhen I was in college, I loved receiving packages. I loved checking my mail, opening the small box in a sea of other small boxes, hoping for a yellow card with my name handwritten upon it.<br />
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One particular day, during my freshmen year, I received a great care package from a very sweet aunt of mine. She included all kinds of sweets and cookies and candies. I loved and couldn't believe that she was so thoughtful to send me a package. I even cut out her address from the package, perhaps either to send another package, or just to be occasionally reminded of her goodness, when coming across it in my travails. <br />
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It was the same too, but perhaps more intense, when I worked as a camp counselor during the summers in college. After dinner everyone would gather outside in the gravel by the flagpole and wait, wait, wait! The popular campers were almost always to receive at least one postcard, very often twice or three times a day. The smiles on their faces were huge!<br />
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Although I wouldn't say that I was jealous of them (if I don't say it does it still count?) sometimes I just hoped and hoped that those packages were for me. And sometimes, SOMETIMES, they were. <br />
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Perhaps that is where I've developed my love of sending packages. I can easily spend a whole day just planning the package of a package, let alone baking or writing or shopping (sometimes). I LOVE to send packages. I love to send homemade packages, especially when they will be a surprise for the recipients.<br />
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Last night, I baked cookies for just such a package. I made little sugar cookie gingerbread men, and finger painted them with a green <a href="http://www.werder.de/english/news/news.php">Werder Bremen</a> jersey (if you close your left eye and cross your fingers..). I made German flags with cheez-wiz gold, and very dark greyish black. They were extra sweet (I had to sample at least one!) and hopefully their fragility will last in the post. <br />
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In all, they were great fun to make. And I hope that when the young man who receives the package opens them up, they'll make him smile, too.<br />
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If all fails, the soccer coated chocolate balls should be enough for at least a few moments of sugar-high giddiness.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8428992826775594450.post-344809735226591322009-12-07T20:08:00.000-05:002009-12-07T20:14:19.314-05:00LeftoversLeftovers, perhaps they should be called love (to have you) overs. They can be so great and have such potential, but at the same time they can be horrendous. Mystery meat anyone?<br /><br />Tonight we had love-to-have-you-over's [if only! :) ] of cottage pie.<br /><br />Can anyone guess what they were originally? If you said meatloaf and roasted rosemary potatoes you would be the winner. (of what, I don't know. Luck?)<br /><br />It was my first time making cottage pie and I would say the results were fair. I was happy to be eating it, but perhaps it wasn't exactly perfect. The top was crunchy (butter helps) but it was only the very top; the inside was savory but perhaps a little too full of carrots.<br /><br />I guess you could say that life is just a good case of love-to-have-you over-again-and-again-and-again. And as long as there is good food and good people, count me in.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8428992826775594450.post-9148735749569870692009-12-04T18:01:00.000-05:002009-12-04T18:11:33.237-05:00Birthday madnessArriving at the anniversary of my mother's birthday, I set out to create a meal which would be appropriate, yet delicious. Well, actually my mother decided on the food she wanted to eat. And, actually, the said steak and potatoes had to be postponed for one day due to my father's cholesterol test the following morning. So, that being addressed, the only dish I was able to keep with on the actual day was my mother's cake: Jack's (as in, Jack Daniels) birthday cake. This cake consisted mostly of roux-ish ingredients like of butter and flour, with the necessary additions of brown sugar, b. powder chocolate, pecans (shelled by me and my mother and grown somewhere in NC, our state), Jack, eggs, and vanilla.<br /><br />It was good, too. I made it in two 7x7 cake pans and was able to squirrel one away in the freezer for a later date. The sauce consisted of butter, confectioner's sugar, Jack, and vanilla. It wasn't really a a sauce--it was more like a glaze--and was actually referred to as the glaze. It didn't dry and it didn't seem strong enough, but it sure was sweet.<br /><br />I decorated the top with pieces of broken up chocolate and pomegranate seeds (leftover from when I just had to have one!)<br /><br />Enjoy.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8428992826775594450.post-65567724443016535442009-12-01T17:33:00.000-05:002009-12-01T17:42:39.364-05:00Pasta joyYesterday, and the day before I must add, I made pasta. From scratch. Just eggs, flour, some water, and a little salt. I made three batches: one first with random sized strands which I hung along the bottom-side of a folding wooden tray stand; secondly as tortellini, stuffed with remnants from Thanksgiving sweet potato; and lastly, as three-hour fresh noodles, long and stiff. I cooked the second batch first, during lunch. They were eggy and chewy and very, very sweet. The first and third batches I cooked for dinner, complemented with a handmade tomato sauce my sister whipped up during her time working on an organic demonstration farm, with added seasonings from me. We rounded the meal out with some garlic bread and a salad which claims about 50% of it's origins to the sandy, clayish soil outside our house.<br /><br />It was a good dinner.<br /><br />Pasta homemade seems like such chore; my mom was commenting on how much work I was putting into rolling the dough translucently thin, when I could easily purchase a decent box of spaghetti at the store for less than a dollar. (in some markets).<br /><br />But to actually know where something comes from, and how to make it, that's what I really want to know. I think that if more people realized exactly where all of their food comes from, and especially, what they are made from, more people would take the time to make things themselves, or at least contract a chef, etc to do it if they don't have the time, etc.<br /><br />However, I also know that the idea of hiring a chef to cook healthy meals is something that only certain individuals can even take a gander at. It's a hard line to follow: wanting the best, yet, making sure others have the best, too.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8428992826775594450.post-48469373079533304612009-11-30T17:09:00.000-05:002009-11-30T17:13:01.894-05:00rejuvenated resumationFood, not unlike writing, will always be necessary. Every meal, every day. It was always be a new adventure in the kitchen, and especially on the floor and in the sink. Is it possible thate the more mess we make, the better-tasting something will be? Because it's no simple task to only dirty one or two dishes or bowls or spoons; I can easily dirty dozens if I tried. How about you?Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8428992826775594450.post-75703530446137716382009-05-18T21:27:00.000-04:002009-05-18T21:49:21.479-04:00New thingsSo, here I am, coming back into my own as I resume my perpetual habit of blogging. We'll see how long I can perpetually keep it going!<br /><br />So I must spend the next 1,000 or so characters devoted to my newest discovery: greek strained yogurt. On Friday, during my copious free time, I opted to purchase some somewhat healthy and/or coupon-friendly snacks from the Natural/Organic section of the Giant Foods. How convenient: I found a coupon book in the car which I cannot claim as my own but which I depend on for at least one day on a weekly basis. Hoorah! Greek yogurt was not one of the coupons available, but the idea of a cold, healthy dairy product was very appealing (it was too early for ice cream--at least that's what I told myself). Along with the Face Greek yogurt I purchased three health-foods bars, and one generous-sized bottle of organic pomegranate-blueberry juice.<br /><br />The yogurt was including a convenient side pocket filled with a strawberry jam, and I accosted the salad bar for some free plastic spoons to round out my on-the-go snacking adventure. After browsing in a few stores for the specific items to tie together the Germany-bound gift package I finally sent, and of course having pitiful luck, I took a few minutes in the parked car to enjoy some WHYY and my now very anticipated carton of yogurt.<br /><br />When I pulled off the paper top, I was astonished! Dipping the spoon into the yogurt resulted in a very creamy, mousse-like, delectably light non-dessert delicacy upon my tongue! I was quite overwhelmed with joy. I slowly savored each morsel, occasionally mixing it with the fruit jam which, like the culinary-minded mouse from Ratatoullie speaks of, is a flavor explosion in my mouth (the blending of two stand-alone flavors) Imagine, mousse for breakfast, everyday! How wonderful it must be to be a Greek native. Or perhaps any non-USA native: the more I research the culinary habits of other cultures the more and more I want to eat! I feel a little unfortunate to be 'only' an American native with no long-time food culture. When I think about my time abroad: Poland, Germany, Italy, and how in each country (perhaps excluding Italy because I was traveling with and frequenting many tourist-oriented affilitations) each meal has it's custom. In America we're all overwhelmed with the products evolving from a simple man's wish to do some more original (and therefore, profitable) than the selling of varietal flours. Oh, how I desire difference and tradition not based upon some form of science experiment! (even if for nutrition's benefit)<br /><br />So really I just want to go back to culinary roots! At least when it comes to being simple and as wholesome as possible in relation to ingredients and their known end result of actual homemade dishes.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8428992826775594450.post-37522801895408441952009-02-27T17:34:00.000-05:002009-02-28T14:35:46.110-05:00FastingSo, on Ash Wednesday I made the decision to fast--I was hoping it would lead to some sort of spiritual clarity. It all started off ok--Water and Weleda Liver Tea for breakfast. By midday I was getting a little sluggish and by the evening all I seemed to be able to gather was that I was depriving myself of food and therefore muddling my mood. In the later night I even gave in and with a friend I ate the dinner I had skipped earlier--I felt that I was holding to my fast for all the wrong reasons and was unable to carry through with the whole thing. Instead of finding the internal strength I thought I was missing, I just provided fuel for my poor mood. I didn't want to think of my fasting experience as something I had to feel bitter about or to regret with some sort of vengeance.<br /><br />However, I did come to grips with this very scary and rapidly growing disaster known as hunger. Even for as little as ten hours, I felt the beginnings of hunger pains. I feel a little unable to quantitatively equate my experience with people who are actually experiencing far worse fates than mine on a day-to-day basis, but I feel that my experience helped to open my eyes to the absolute terror of this epidemic. If we compared those who are not able to fill their bellies each day to those who just completely take for granted the availability of not just any food, but organic, local, wholesome food, I feel very selfish. I prefer organic food and good-quality food which I know is quote-unquote better than "other" food. But how often could I have helped others! Food in itself is amazing. The sheer quantity of edible things in the world is more than anything I could ever count. How many different seeds, roots, flowers, branches are taken from the ground specifically so mammals, etc could consume them?<br /><br />What would it be like if no one had ever to suffer with an empty stomach?Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8428992826775594450.post-42513656266383686262009-02-21T21:05:00.000-05:002009-02-21T23:02:16.828-05:00myself, as an individual<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDoRuuBOYF-xAsHC8Xak5GBjrXoXZYHRhf_cWmcIH76xXZUT-AJa-_ztUz-XSiYg2mVliG9tTo4_6508Ys9BEVOEFELX33a9dgacyUzBSFUKob7oFboVloaq7dNjQlQWKCLWNW2DITyVW8/s1600-h/clareirishsweaterlaughing.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 87px; height: 130px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDoRuuBOYF-xAsHC8Xak5GBjrXoXZYHRhf_cWmcIH76xXZUT-AJa-_ztUz-XSiYg2mVliG9tTo4_6508Ys9BEVOEFELX33a9dgacyUzBSFUKob7oFboVloaq7dNjQlQWKCLWNW2DITyVW8/s320/clareirishsweaterlaughing.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5305466890279283570" border="0" /></a><br />to say that food is the only thing which I think about or which really fuels me would, in itself, be stating an obvious falsity. food brings people together: food can be the reason for almost anything. Food fills me up; food brings me down. But food cannot sustain itself as an independent thought process--it is created with thought and often renders thought but cannot replace thought.<br /><br />I am as an individual not what you would always call a free thinker. I spend a lot of time thinking and I think about what I will do, but I don't intend for thinking to be the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">sustenance</span> of my existence. I have recently found it quite difficult to mold myself into someone who, as a matter of being, is inexplicably intertwined in constant thought. I find myself so overwhelmed with all the thoughts and the ideas which come to mind as a result of my "thinking binges." I am I guess in this stream of consciousness trying to express my fear at the idea of becoming more "thoughtful" than I already am. I am fearful that I will create for myself a path into territories unnamed, regions undiscovered, which ultimately show me something I am not sure I want to discover. Not that I fear myself as an individual, but more that I'm just not really ready to grow up even though I try so hard sometimes. I feel as though if I was ready to grow up I would not be living in a life-sharing community. I spend so much of my time enjoying: laughing, cooking, being tickled, hugging, sing-song'ing--and although the idea of sitting down and thinking all the time theoretically could embody the yin to my already <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">personified</span> yang--it seems it would be without the sense of balance which would actually create two mirroring and to borrow the expression of a friend, "wave-like" approaches to 'being.' Alternatively, I feel like, as of recently, I am somehow consciously or perhaps intentionally trying to balance all of my free thinking into one designated bloc of time which in the end does nothing less than overwhelm and confuse me when I step away from it.<br /><br />Perhaps Macrobiotics hold the future for me: the intentional balance of life-giving nutrients which then seep into all the other nooks and crannies of my life. Peace is good!<br /><br />On a side-note, in this very moment I feel I AM at peace. I am writing on my newly acquired <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">re gifted</span> laptop Bessie :), listening to Sufjan Stevens' 'Illionoise', sipping cranberry juice and seltzer, nibbling German Ritter Sport, and enjoying proper "mood lighting: colored christmas lights and an unfortunately energy-sucking incandescent light-bulb. If fluorescents were more appealing mood-wise I would totally go all out. Perhaps candles are really the only way to go (but still carbon emitting...).<br /><br />I am starting to get really excited about the prospect of traveling to Europe: Italy specifically, during my Spring Break and I am pondering the balance between this indulgence and all of the financial-related sadness of our everyday reality. It almost seems like I would be postponing my "reality." But that it is!<br /><br />I feel that I am experiencing a lot in situations which are both self-created and spontaneous, and I feel I will be something I am happy with when I finally find someone or something sweet enough to bring me clarity with a little mud and perhaps some saliva (but water works, too).<br /><br />If God would personify himself in you this my life would be.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8428992826775594450.post-61251088648774802812009-02-07T00:20:00.000-05:002009-02-18T21:53:46.876-05:00Real Life<div>So recently I went to see Revolutionary Road and it was quite a little bit mind-blowing. For me, all that I can think of relationships is that I haven't always had the best luck but I am so hopeful for something genuine in the future. I don't want to see a movie which is perfect; who is perfect anyway? It is unsettling to compare oneself to the characters on the screen who just seem to have it all together. But this movie--this is real. So real that I left the movie stunned. The "heroine" goes through so much just so she can fulfill some dream which she uses as a substitute for reality. She seems to have so much around her and in lieu of appreciating it she throws it all away. I felt connected to the way she tried so hard to find something--anything--to fill the void and make everything good again, when once their was strife and obvious, if not overt, unhappiness. We're often quick to try to put a band-aid on something and hope that a brand new limb will grow in the place of the boiler or severed arm or what have you.<br /><br />The sadness made me think of how much we undervalue the currents running through our lives. Perhaps we cannot always be amazingly happy, but we can be honest. We can see that their is possibility for something amazing in almost any step you take. It just matters how you care for it and how you are therefore cared for.<br /><br />Love will save us. Life cannot provide enough obstacles or distractions to keep us unreal forever.<br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8428992826775594450.post-45775016691903794252009-02-03T21:27:00.000-05:002009-02-03T21:53:57.187-05:00Nantmel Farm Cafe ReOpeningSo today was the Big Day--the day we were slotted to wow the community and come back, regal style, into the world of Soltaneous existence. (yes Rachel, I did borrow your phrase I so often read). And of course, yours truly volunteered to be the "Head Chef"--that seemingly responsible individual who charts all the courses and fills all the bottles. Well, it was a little crazy I must say. I forgot some ingredients and I didn't get up at 7 am to prepare like I had done during my dreams the night before. To me, ever the "anal perfectionist" (sometimes) it seemed so different from what I remember before. I realized it's a lot of work to be outwardly 'responsible' for all the activities happening around me. Before I had always assumed responsibility for the elements I thought I could control but never had I vocally expressed such responsibility. I was really frustrated today because the food was a little toasted and the sandwiches I had dreamed about I had not enough time to prepare. But the food was good, nevertheless. At least, I was quite satified in their masticulation.<br /><br />I wonder if, should I persue culinary school, how my palate will change and adapt. Who decides whether something is "good"? Who decided that certain tastes are superior to others and that certain flavor combinations actually even belong together? I fear that I am not original or creative enough to create such connections on my own without dissapointing others or especially, myself. I am not even sure if cooking is really the path for me. Sometimes I get a big head about it and just assume that I will be good--just like I sometimes do for writing, bowling (but not frequently!), or other areas in which I occasionally have some luck accomplishing my goals. I have a hard time assessing that I have successfully developed skills or comprehensive knowledge of my pursuits. I guess that is why I need more school!<br /><br />On another note, I was realizing today during some personal reflection how important it is to be appreciate of simply simple things, like hugs or smiles or true personifications of individual character. Today for instance, the simple act of receiving a smile was enough to totally invert my mood and bring me momentary peace. But the simple act of actually acknowledging that something is simply great is quite difficult to attain somedays. I am always amazed how completely compounded I become in the daily grind of this stressful life and significantly my unwillingness tolet go once I have created a pseudo pattern or dare say, habit, of the stressful downplay. Time alone in a moving car often allots me space to reflect on just where I'm headed and where I want to turn up, both figuratively and realistically. To easier find this joy is what I wish I was better at!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8428992826775594450.post-83176594201559708262009-01-25T21:52:00.000-05:002009-01-25T22:00:55.900-05:00That first nightThat first night, when all I wanted to get started! Except it's been a long time and I'm going to have to say that I am tired. But it's a good tired--after a good day. Our menu for the dinner meal was Smashed spicy sweet potatoes and Garlic-pepper quinoa with honey baked shrimp. Talk about yummy eats!<br /><br />So, to get to the point, I want to use this blog to write about food, writing, and life. Food: the meals I make; the meals I partake; the recipes I covet and anticipate. Writing: the poems I jot; the stories I recreate (or make up); my future and my past. Life: funny experiences; fears and dreams about the future; my newest career paths.<br /><br />Enjoy it like a fine wine and some organic, fair-trade, dark chocolate--studded with ginger and chili powder!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0