It seems a little fraudulent posting this recipe. First of all – it’s scarcely a recipe. Secondly – it’s all over the Internet in various remarkably similar renditions. Nonetheless, having recently gone wheat-free to see if I can eliminate migraines, I’m trying all kinds of new dishes – this was one of them. It took me by surprise because it is so good. (more…)
I’ve written about my paternal grandfather before and I’m sure I’ll write about him again. He was a big, strapping, handsome Yorkshireman with beautiful blue eyes that crinkled and smiled when he smiled – which was often. He had a fabulous Yorkshire accent. He called everyone Love. “Eeeee Luv,” he would say to waitresses and shopkeepers and neighbours and really, anyone and everyone who crossed his path.
When I was very young, my grandfather lived in the Yorkshire Dales – in an old stone house with a terraced garden down to the river where he grew roses and peas and lettuce. I’m sure he grew other things too but what I remember especially were the roses and peas. The roses were fragrant and beautiful – so many varieties and he was tender with all of them. We always had a vase of roses in the house – pink were my favourite. The peas – we picked straight from the vine and ate. Sometimes he would send me into the garden with a small pudding basin to collect peas for dinner and the pair of us would sit together later, shelling them, just before he cooked them. When they appeared on my plate for dinner they were perfection – sweet, lightly buttered, often served with a bit of fresh mint. Whenever I eat peas now, I think of my grandfather. And when I think of my grandfather – I think of love. (more…)
What’s that you say? Not Paleo?
Neither am I.
I am interested in food though – all food – and especially healthy, tasty food. (more…)
Writing about food is challenging. How, for example, would you describe a peach to someone who’d never seen or tasted one?
It’s so hard to find the language to explain the sumptuousness of a peach – a fuzzy-coated, sweetly fragrant, summer fruit whose ripe, soft flesh yields to the mouth, whose sweet juices run down your hands and face as you bite in. A peach smells of sunshine and honey and the summer wind. In size it is like a cross between an apple and an orange – sporting a warm soft, pale orange sweater-coat, kissed with shades of pink. In texture – more akin to a plum. Peaches tastes like nectar, like honey, like flowers, like summer itself. But no matter what words you find – no matter how florid the description – a peach is a peach. Nothing but eating one actually does it justice.
Wasabi always makes me think of wabi-sabi – the Japanese art of finding and embracing beauty in flaws and imperfection. It is a concept derived from Buddhism and based on the idea that nothing lasts, nothing is finished, and nothing is perfect. (more…)
I must admit, I cringe a little when I hear the term “inspirational quote.” Makes me think of self-help books in which a single thought is expanded out to fill an entire book when a paragraph might have sufficed. So many experts – with so little and yet so much to say… (more…)
I’m going to skip all the preamble here and just say, please make this granola ASAP. Put the ingredients on your shopping list BEFORE you shut down your computer. This is seriously yummy granola. It’s can’t-wait-to-get-out-of-bed-in-the-morning good.