sourdough noir

sourdough noir |

Allow me to embarrass myself:

When I can’t sleep at night, I think about food. I analyze recipes. I scrutinize them. I think about ingredients and techniques and plan out what I’m going to make in the morningFor whatever reason, I find comfort in this soothing mechanism because it tires out my mind. And I enjoy it.

This isn’t  something new- it all stared when my youngest son was born. He had severe colic and screamed his head off from 6am- 6pm for six weeks straight. It was mental torture. There was no sleeping, no showering, no putting him down. I thought about food to stay sane. It distracted me. During this time I taught myself the metric system, demystified sourdough, scribbled recipe ideas on the back of junk mail, and dreamed of an heirloom garden. Was I going mad? Probably. But in retrospect, this otherwise noisy difficult time in my life turned out to be surprisingly productive.

Three years later……

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batch cooking: chicken thighs

batch cooking: chicken thighs |

Do you believe in the dinner fairy?

Gorgeous meals do not magically appear on my dinner table every night. I’m still waiting to meet her, just so you know. By the time 5 o’clock rolls around I’m dragging. I’m hungry. On a good day dinner is thoughtfully planned out and ready to go. Other days, I wish for her to swoop down and wave her magic wand (clean my dishes) and bring me wine.

That’s why I batch cook….

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butternut squash stuffed mushrooms
with goat cheese + balsamic glaze

butternut squash stuffed mushrooms with goat cheese + balsamic glaze |

I ate a poisonous mushroom once.

My free-spirited self wandered out into the backyard and just went for it. I was three. I don’t actually remember this but my mom does. According to her, I ate a lot of unauthorized things. I would even snack off other peoples’ picnic blankets at the beach. Restaurants were a nightmare. Oh, and you know those red snot berries that grow on pine trees? (I’m not a botanist- I apologize for the poor reference…). I wanted them SO badly for my witch’s brew in my imaginary cauldron with mud and sticks. You see? I was always into food. Life at three years old was one big communal table.

It still is….

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