May 30, 2012
I can’t say that I describe food as “sneaky” all that often, but this Baked Shrimp Scampi is exactly that. At first glance, it’s a beautiful, delicate dish that makes you secretly wish you had some sort of fancy Sunday garden party to host. There would be dresses involved—girly and floral—as well as some outrageously large hats, perhaps even a strand or two of pearls. Despite living in Texas (a.k.a. the fiery core of the sun itself), there would be wrought iron tables set on the lawn and the weather would carry a pleasant, cool breeze. All ants, wasps, bees, and lunatic squirrels would scurry and buzz and march their ways back where they belong, leaving every morsel of herby, lemony, baked shrimp for you and your guests to enjoy.
May 18, 2012
Let me ask you a question—How do we feel about oatmeal? At best, it can be a wonderful, wholesome breakfast of tender, tasty, nutty oats. At worst, it can be a flavorless bowl of slimy mush, full of artificial ingredients and completely empty on the yum factor. I myself have had a love-hate relationship with this dish for quite a while. It was great when I used to make the instant stuff with milk, piling the bowl full of butter, brown sugar, chocolate chips, and peanut butter. That oatmeal is amazing, especially for a late-night dinner when all nutritional concerns seem to quietly dissolve along with the setting sun.
May 11, 2012
Well, this is awkward.
I haven’t updated this blog in over two weeks. It feels kind of strange to just hop back in again without acknowledging that funky absence. Like good friends who lost touch and then run into each other at the grocery store, posting another recipe is equal parts totally awesome and nail-bitingly overdue. Like old chums whose paths have not recently crossed, I also have similar excuses. For me, what was initially a demanding course load for the semester turned into some sort of kraken-esque monster of the deep when finals week reared its ugly head. All of a sudden, classes that had been easy became brain melting, requiring long afternoons at the library and late nights of term papers on medical symbolism in Frida Kahlo’s La Columna Rota, all of it in Spanish.