A Project, of the Sweetest Kind.

My word! Everything is so crazy right now. Work has hit some random fever pitch, my chores have stacked up and are looming, I haven't had any time to make my weekly batches of pimiento cheese or deviled ham salad for Lindy & Grundy, Fred and I are going on a vacation tomorrow, which means my packing agita began days ago, and, oh my GAWD - I had to remove a large tick from a dog (ticks are one of THE scariest things in the whole world to me). 

Cooking the Book(s).

There is so much I want to tell you. I'm this close, I promise. Until I can tell you, trust me, I'm going a little crazy myself. I am going through a major period of hurry-up-and-wait stuff right now. I know that everything will be clear soon enough, but being tremendously impatient coupled with my control freakdom makes the hurry-up-and-wait times extraordinarily difficult. And I'm kind of on a diet. No carbs and no wine. Until I go visit home in two weeks. This has been going on since the beginning of the month. Okay, so let us now add the fact that I am not allowing myself crispety crunchety saltedy things or wine (wine, y'all!) along with tremendously impatient coupled with control freakdom. And it's tax time.

Consider the Waffle.

While ambling through a thrift store recently, I stumbled across a waffle iron touting itself as The Belgian Waffler. It gave me pause. Though I couldn't remember the last time I ordered a waffle from a menu, I knew for certain that, other than putting a frozen one into a toaster in or around the second grade, I had definitely had never made one. The colors and the font on the circa 1982 Belgian Waffler box reminded me, fondly, of Busch Gardens, an old-world European theme park back in Williamsburg, Virginia. The Old Country, as it was tagged, featured a number of 'hamlets' like Oktoberfest (Bavarian Germany), Killarney (Ireland), Heatherdowns (Scotland), Aquitaine (France) and Banbury Cross (England) to name a few, all with appropriately themed food, games and rides. For you Californians, if Solvang had skee ball and roller coasters, it would be a dead ringer for a hamlet in Busch Gardens.

Out Like a Lamb.

The end of March is nigh, and thus is Easter. Passover is happening right now. It's a big time for a lot of people. And plants. Plants are having a blast right now. And people are having a blast with plants. Or, at least, Fred and I are.

In Like a Lion...

Today is the first day of Spring. I love Spring. Who doesn't? What's not to love about Spring? But, in all honesty, if you stuck an ice pick at my temple and forced me to pick my favorite season, I'd have to come clean and say that Spring is not my absolute favorite season of all the glorious seasons. But I do love it.

A Picnic in Bed

Last weekend Fred and I camped out at home. We planned our 'getaway' carefully, and made sure we had a plentitude of rations (of every imaginable sort) to ensure there would be absolutely no reason to get into a car at any point between day's end on Friday and first light on Monday. And, I dare say, mission accomplished with flying, colorful colors.

Building a Fort

There has been a lot of stuff going on in the world of Fred and me. We are great, don't you worry. But the world around us has been a bit, shall we say, dicey. We have both been moving very fast, doing a lot of things, a lot of busy. Yet we have been ships in the night, hardly had a moment to really spend quality time with one another. In our house, the books and magazines have been piling up to resemble colorful totem poles, the garden is more like a graveyard, and as of last Friday, you could hear an echo in our refrigerator.

Comfort Me With Bucatini.

Growing up in Richmond, I recall very little pasta happening in either of my parents' kitchens, except maybe pasta salad. I also don't remember going out for much Italian food back then. I'm sure there was spaghetti and meatballs when I had dinner at my friends' houses, but – and I could be wrong – I don't think I ever saw it on my dining room table(s). That's weird, right? I mean, I don't even think we did lasagna, for crying out loud. It's a miracle I turned out alright.

An inspirational GIVEAWAY!

This is a first here at F for Food, but that last post inspired me to do it. 

Recently, as I glanced across my vast cookbook collection, at all of the words and images that inspire me daily in the kitchen, I thought I might just pass some of that inspiration along to you. I recently attended an event in which Michael Psilakis did a cooking demonstration. While he showed us how to make Greek sliders, he spoke of his inspiration, his father, who always encouraged him to follow what he loved. Much like Chef Psilakis, I have been lucky enough to have two parents that have always fostered my creativity. No matter what. 

Inspirato.

Yes, we have all heard that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. And, on a base level and on the high-road level, I suppose it is. But, there is a fine line between imitation and inspiration.  Imitation versus inspiration is a perennial discussion in the art world and other worlds as well.  And, it is such valid dialogue.