The quince apple was hard. Immediately letting me know this isn’t a fruit to eat while running out the door to work or as a midday snack. It needed to be cooked down with a roast chicken, in a cobbler, pie or an apple skillet pancake. It had a beautiful floral and fruity fragrance, a scent that took my memory to perfumes and candles using quince in their blends. One large quince apple was purchased with a bag of organic tart Granny Smith Apples. Read more
Like its winter cousins, acorn squash and pumpkins, butternut squash are naturally sweet. They’re the dessert of the dinner table. Since discovering butternut squash a few years ago, I’ve enjoyed them, because they’re easier to prep with their subtle ridges and smaller cavities. (Make sure to use a sharp knife.) Read more
Since I’ve returned to working from 9 to 5, Saturday is the only day of the week, in which I can sleep in without waking up to an alarm clock. Meanwhile, the boyfriend wakes up super early to train clients or box with friends. A couple weeks ago, he started asking about breakfast (or brunch) being ready by casually mentioning the time he was returning home from the gym. The hints were well taken, and I realize our Saturday breakfast ritual was missed.
I’ve been meaning to make Ricotta Cheese Pancakes for a while, but my body won’t allow me to wake up early enough to make them. When the boyfriend dropped the hint of what time he was returning from the gym on Saturday morning as early as Thursday night, I made sure to purchase ricotta cheese for the weekend. Lucky for me, the time he was returning home still allowed a few extra hours of happy sleep.
Whitney Houston’s death made us speechless and a cold left me without taste, scent and a slight hearing loss. Being void of most of my senses, developing recipes was put on hold until full recovery. Unfortunately, I missed out on publishing these Quinoa Pancakes with Meyer Lemon Syrup scheduled for Mardi Gras and Pancake Day held this past Tuesday, February 21st. Then, as my body partially recovered, I accepted a last minute freelance design job. Between trying to sleep off a cold, remembering all of Whitney Houston’s songs and working long hours, time has slip away. Read more
In addition to watching my sister and I during the day, our new babysitter initially promised Mom a good lunch for us. She didn’t know we were a pair of extreme picky kids, no fault of our own. Blame it on Dad who knew more about cooking, from a chef’s perspective, than most people who brought into the fast, processed food craze starting in the late 70’s. Good lunches meant a bologna and American single cheese sandwich with bleached white flour bread that never spoiled. If mayonnaise or mustard were added to my sandwich, I would rather starve. Hot dogs weren’t a good option, too. Most people served it with ketchup and mustard. Maybe a little pickled relish. After a few weeks of my sister and I refusing to eat, the sitter told Mom; we are too picky to feed. However, we would spend the next few years playing and growing side-by-side with her three lovely kids. She was tough love. Read more