Food for Thought

Make it worth it...

Thoughtful food presentation, meals that are uplifting… and some recipes that soothe your soul…

I don’t know how good of a cook I am… but, I might know a thing or two about how to be a fun hostess, present food in a pleasant way… and take care of the ones I love…

I don’t take, I give… 

I like to come up with new recipes… I blend flowers and herbs in all I do—and baking sourdough breads has become a ritual—a meditation, and it’s taken me years to finally get it ‘right’?—an endless quest… some days are better than others… and, I find the mood… the day, the weather… the newspaper that day… all play into the final display.

I take a photo of each loaf and send to the ones I love… if they are not here to share with me—the dogs and I share the ends… fermentation is so good for you… and the only bread I like to eat is my own.

Overnight oats, plant milk steeped in Earl Grey tea… it’s just the extra thought of trying something new… it can go wrong or right…

Rustic galettes… savory and sweet (I love anything wrapped in pastry), and anything good takes practice… (the inspiration for my “I Love You” cookbook).

My Garden is abundant, and I’m blessed my tomatoes aren’t in full force yet… while I’m pickling cucumbers and making strawberry jam (with rose petals) and blueberry muffins… topped with pretty, fresh lemon zest.

Fall is almost here… my favorite time of year for lentils and any kind of blended potato soups (good with sourdough croutons and chili oil)—olive focaccia, fougasse (in the shape of a leaf), and flatbreads loaded with zaatar.

I love flipped crispy rice, herbs, and pomegranate… or a whole head of spicy baked cauliflower placed on a bed of tahini and yogurt…

I never forget the dogs… and have big jars of baked pumpkin dog cookies and raw berry balls—cold crisp celery and carrots in a drawer marked especially for them ‘pups’… they love the ends of fresh vegetables, and when I cook… I always keep a bowl to share with them, dancing around my feet.

My mom made lunch for my Dad when he went off to work—a chimney sweep… a big black thermos of coffee, and a cool silver bucket to carry it in.

Now, I wrap sandwiches in parchment paper (or wax paper)—I remember wishing we could have sandwiches in plastic ziplocks like everyone else or saran wrap at school… but we couldn’t afford… and we re-used our wax paper to tie up and fold nicely, time and again…

It was actually pretty, and sustainable… and I prefer it these days.

Dad would leave in his old clay green Land Rover… 
It was a standard, not automatic…
the one with no seat belts in the back…  
where we’d go off roading in…  
and my brother and I would fly from one side to the other 
laughing our heads off —
as we made our way to an abandoned pool in the woods
where dad played poker with his friends… 
we searched for worms and put them in a bucket for fishing — 
or, he’d time us… 
with the wrist watch he wore (facing the palm of his hand) backwards?
as we ran around…  
and brought beer from the cooler — 
I did all the opening...
a coveted job...
licking up the beer suds on my arm...
We had a small ‘airstream’ looking camper in our back yard — 
it was where our cats liked to have kittens…
just behind the pump house where the dead deer was...
inside the (‘do not open’) door…
so etched in my memory  
and where I vowed not to eat meat… 
if that what ‘meat’ was...

When we go back and look at our stories… we can see where our style comes from… My dad’s cigarettes rolled up in his sleeve—his eyes matched his truck… he had great style… so did my mom… her hair always in a cute bouffant, gardening gloves and rolled up jeans… and big blue eyes.

‘the blond bombshell and the bad boy’

and so it began…

Love,

P