Still Cooking and Blogging
In my farm hideaway, we’ve been cooking and serving mostly comfort foods: soups, casseroles, breads. But recently we’ve moved on to more “experimental dishes.”
Robin recently made a New York Times recipe for Garlic Scape Pesto, that was way yummy. The recipe received a 5-star rating from more than 300 people commenting on the post. Pesto is so handy because it can be used on pasta, appetizers, sandwiches, grilled cheese, toast, and as a dip when mixed with yogurt, sour cream or cream cheese. Or put it atop a baked brie, veggies or risotto.
Change of the “Guard” at the Farm
This week we had the New York Times version of Korean Beef Bulgogi that was as good as any I’ve had in Korean restaurants. But it had far too many steps for me.
For another dish, he tried to find Thai Curry Paste at the store, but there was none to be had. Umm. . . you don’t suppose there’s been a run on Thai Curry Paste, do you?
So How Am I Doing?
During the past few weeks, I’ve been reluctant to post photographs of myself for fear they’d frighten small children and startle my hairdresser. Despite my physical wear and tear, the improving weather helps makes the isolation more bearable. The spring days are getting warmer and the sun brighter each week. The flowers continue to bloom pleasantly, though my rhododendron has faded.
Best of all, I’ve figured out how to visit with friends and neighbors from behind my glass kitchen door or at a safe distance outside. And I’ve LOVED having three generations of my family cooking together in the kitchen this week. If there are any good memories to be had from this lockdown, this would surely be at the top of the list.
At night, I sleep with my window blinds up (the closest farm is a half mile away). So when I roll over I can see the night gradually turning to day. I can now tell about what time it is by the amount of light on the horizon. I’m happy to say the sun is coming up everyday like it has for millions of years. This is a good sign. 😊
The Sound of Music
Some days I wake up swinging my arms about, ready to join Julie Andrews in singing, “The hills are alive with the sound of music.” (The Ozark hills, that is.)
But on those few day, when I feel like Debbie Downer, I give myself a stern talking to. I’m reminded that Julie Andrews concluded her melody with, “I go to the hills when my heart is lonely, I know I will hear what I’ve heard before. My heart will be blessed with the sound of music. And I’ll sing once more.”
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