With the onset of the fall schedule, I need to do more advance preparation than during summer break. Some times my brain doesn’t like to think and plan! Spontaneity is too much fun — except at 6:30pm when everyone is hungry!
This was NOT the summer to garden — from a hot and dry beginning, to insane amounts of rain, to traveling out of the country for nearly 3 weeks. But I have to say, my sage plants are happy, happy, HAPPY!
Have you ever noticed that the nearer a country is to the Equator, the spicier the food is? It seems like hot food in hot weather makes people cooler and more comfortable. That’s logical, I guess!
I may be late for Cinco de Mayo, but then again, I was at least one week late for Saint Patrick’s Day. No biggie! Great food can be served year ’round.
Julia Childs once said, “I enjoy cooking with wine, sometimes I even put it in the food…” In reality, it seems like all food is better when cooked with/in wine. Water and broth just don’t cut it. In order to achieve layers of flavour, some form of alcohol needs to be included. That’s just the way it is.
So, this may be my newest addiction. I can’t seem to get enough of it. I’m sure there will be dozens of ways to serve this pork – fried rice, breakfast scramble, on a salad – but so far, I can’t get beyond straight out of the pan.
Every once in a while something from my kitchen doesn’t turn out very well. A flop. Disaster. Epic failure. At those times, inevitably, one of my kids says, “You should have followed a recipe, Mom”. I did! It just wasn’t a very good recipe! But in reality, recipes are just guidelines. I seldom follow them exactly, but alter them to match the ingredients I have on hand, or according to my instinct of what will taste great.
Some times the simplest things go unnoticed, fly under the radar. Just think how pleasant a chair beside a lake is, or the smell of autumn leaves, or the sight of winter’s first snowflake. Pulled pork is so easy that it’s hard to find a recipe in any cookbook.
I grew up eating “Chinese take-out” almost every Sunday after church. We picked up chow mein with extra rice packed in little white boxes and brought it to my grandparent’s house in Minneapolis. Life in the 1970’s meant it probably wasn’t very authentic Asian food, but it was tradition. And we loved it.
If Albert Einstein’s definition of insanity is “doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results”, then my version for cooking would be “doing the same thing over and over and DREADING different results”.