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Young & HungryIf you can't take the heat, get outta the kitchen! |
| 7 July |
Ok, perhaps not the best title I’ve ever concocted, but considering it’s occasion appropriate I think it could be worse. I debated using this post to discuss the fabulous Piedmont Farmer’s market that I try to frequent each Saturday in the park, but I feel like I’ll go ahead and save that theme for some wonderful vegetarian side such as yellow zucchini or heirloom tomatoes. That said, this recipe does provide you with a fab sauce for any heirloom tomatoes you might have looming around your kitchen. This recipe also provides you with a venue to dispose of that delectable fresh goat cheese you might have picked up if you went to said market. When I say that this goat cheese was worth getting up for after a mere 4 hours of sleep I do not exaggerate. When I say that it is worth walking 3 miles dehydrated, in 90 degree weather and Rainbow flip flops that you soon learn have not been broken in I also do not exaggerate. And so, since this market trip was more on a “why am I awake” whim, I will save my usual delightful “here I go a marketing…” narrative for a later date.
I made this recipe for my Dad who I’ve said before is a lover of all things cilantro-fied. While he neglected to pick out one of the many recipes I sent him to choose from for his annual Father’s Day dinner, judging by the sparse leftovers I’m pretty certain he loved what he got!
| 29 April |
The Nutty Pesto Pinwheels were appetizer numero dos for my far away Golden Globes party, and they were undoubtedly more popular than their counterpart, the Parmesan Peppercorn Biscotti. In retrospect, I think it may have been because they were closer to that perfect appetizer portion (or should I say ration) that my biscotti always somehow exceed…times three. I also think that “ladies” prefer small portions, at least when keeping up with appearances. I swear my girlfriends would rather eat half of two instead of a whole, proclaiming the white lie “I ate two WHOLE pieces of pizza!” Gasp! I sit silently in denial or say, “me, too” secretly thinking that the third piece, which was sitting there leftover and staring a hole in my head until I finally grabbed it, doesn’t actually count. It’s similar to perusing the aisles of the frequently aforementioned Whole Foods, filling up on samples to tide me over on the ride home. They too do not count, but I will say they are missed. Especially on nights like tonight when the offerings were sparse.
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