You know, it’s funny. For most of my life thus far, I’ve professed to be a hater of salads. I know, it’s difficult to imagine hating something as innocuous and unassuming as a salad. It wasn’t a passionate hatred; I’ve always happily munched of lettuce and veg (no dressing, please) after dinner with the rest of my family. But as something to spend time making? As something to get excited about? As something to actually pay for in a restaurant? Please, I had better things to eat. Read more…
You’ve probably all heard of Welsh rabbit/rarebit, the delicious late-night snack and lunch dish so beloved of the British Isles. It’s a simple idea, really: take some toasted bread and top with a mixture of egg yolks and cheese (often with flavourings like chili, Worcestershire sauce or ale), and put the whole thing under the broiler until bubbly and delicious. Apply to mouth. Read more…
Lean in close, and I’ll let you in on a shameful little secret of mine: I’ve never successfully made a gratin before now. Absurd, right? The easy-peasy staple of French cooking, winter cooking and (let’s face it) 1950′s home cooking has never been my forté. Until now, that is. Read more…
In my family, we don’t really do lunch on the weekends. Maybe I should rephrase that: we eat, but we don’t do large, elaborate lunches. While some families might sit down to pastas, gratins, breads and salads at midday, mine tends to favour nothing more taxing than a grilled sandwich, and more likely a mug of soup. Read more…
You know how, as food bloggers*, we like to convince our readers that we always eat like this? That beautiful, creative, well thought out and healthy meals grace our tables daily and effortlessly? That we never succumb to take-out pizza, boxed cake mixes or store-bought vanilla extract?
(*I’m addressing this to “food bloggers” because I’m convinced that at least 90% of food blog-readers are food-blog writers, too.) Read more…
I hope you’ll permit me to begin this post with a bit of a rant:
How unfair is it that it’s only the beginning of August, and the days are noticeably shorter already? Obviously I realize that science (or whatever- physics?) dictates that the Summer Solstice is sometime at the end of June, and after that the days get shorter. Fine, I get it. But if I was in charge of the world (and therefore physics answered to me), I wouldn’t let the days shorten until the end of August at least. The whole thing just puts a damper on summer, doesn’t it? Read more…
