May 30, 2013

Chocolate Coconut Cherry Tarts


I met Mr. H at Oktoberfest. Not in Munich, but a similar festival in Kitchener-Waterloo known as Canada's Greatest Bavarian Festival. There was a lot of beer drinking, chicken dancing, and pretzel eating. To be honest, I was basically drunk for 3 days (which is not the story I will tell my children on how I met their father). It is actually quite surprising that I was able to make such an impression in that state. Mr. H dazzled me with his bright smile, good looks, and intellect - he is much more put together than I am when he drinks. I was serious about this guy in a major way, until he told me that he was moving to Seattle. And then I was like - what the shit? I reluctantly spent the next few weeks getting to know him, and then his family, and then I was basically a mess because I loved him and he was leaving. He left, and I cried, and then got stupidly drunk and repeatedly called him at 1:00 am, luckily because of the time difference it was only 11:00 pm his time. I then cried some more, and drank some more.  I was a wreck, and an emotional drinker. I think I have probably revealed too much. 
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May 22, 2013

Date Newtons

Have I ever told you about that time when I was stuck? Not the type of stuck you get when you decide to venture out into a snow storm. I was stuck in life, in a place, in a job, with a boy, all things I didn't like. I was stuck so deep that I was unsure of how to get out. After a lot of self-reflecting and gin drinking, I dug myself out, moved forward, got an education, and left the boy. It was when I finally decided to grab the steering wheel, instead of riding in the back seat, that the car seemed to go in the right direction. Sometimes I look back at that time of my life, not with regret or shame, but as a point of reference. To remind myself of the person that I once was, and the person I am today. And although at the the time it seemed like a really terrifying decision, it turned out to be one of the best decisions I ever made.

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May 16, 2013

Huevos Rancheros Scrambled

Growing up, my dad built the family a chicken coupe, complete with four rows of tiny individual chicken rooms, and a fancy zig-zagging staircase, so that the chickens could get to their rooms and out the front door whenever they wanted. We didn't eat them, we mostly just collected their eggs and tried to avoid stepping on their poop. We had a rooster named Lucy who was super annoying and woke me up every morning at the crack of dawn, a few ducks, and two geese - who were also really annoying and used to chase me around the back yard trying to bite my ankles. Each summer my parents grew a large vegetable garden with tomatoes, peas, beans, etc., and my grandma would come visit at the end of the summer and pickle the beets, cucumbers and make jam. She would also make us hike into the bush looking for fancy pieces of wood to put in her garden, which I never really understood. My family were modern day hippies. We lived in the country, far away from modern conveniences. I didn't have a lot of friends. I did however have chickens, and they were the best friends a girl could ask for. Each morning, I would put on my red rubber boots - as a preventative measure, and I would go out to the coop and feed them Cheerios, because clearly chickens like Cheerios. I would gather eggs, and my dad would scramble them up, or he would make French toast.

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May 8, 2013

Apple Fennel Salad, And A New-to-me Green Called Mâche


We've had some shocking weather, this month of May. I am really digging the fact that my tomato and strawberry plants are on the patio, and we can all bask in the sun together, but I am also a bit skeptical that the good weather is not here to stay, and mother nature is eventually going to slap us back into reality with a cold front and rain storm. Here in the Seattle, we cross our fingers and pray to the weather gods that there will be sunny skies and warm nights by the month of July. But lately, we've been going about our business with a spring in our step, fancy shades, and adorable shoes. Eating gelato for breakfast, swimming in the lake that is probably just a little too cold, and making s'mores on our fancy REI mini camp stoves. Also, drinking way to many margaritas. Temperatures have reached low 80's, and you won't hear me complaining about anything, except when people dump their left-over margaritas on my patio from the roof-top on Cinco de Mayo. Then I'm a little peeved - only because I wasn't invited. 
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May 1, 2013

Don't Underestimate the Amount of Time it Takes to Ice a Cake

My two dearest friends got married this past Saturday. I had been helping them plan this wedding for the past few months. On Friday, they threw a pre-wedding party. A chance for people to mingle, eat good food, and drink way too much champagne. Mr. H and myself, with little self-control, are those two people who drank far too much. This put an interesting twist on the next days events. My 9:00 am hair appointment seemed like far more of a task than it should've been, and although I put on my finest smile the day of the wedding (by 'put-on' I mean literally painted it on with lipstick), I was hurting on the inside. Not the type of hurting you feel when you break up with a partner, in your soul. No, this was literal pain. In my digestive region. 
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