Saturday, February 16, 2013

Paleo Pancakes

It may have been two years since I posted...
but I still check back on my blog for recipes.

Here's one I'm sick of scrolling through 12 months of photos on Instagram for.
A.K.A Lembas Bread (but taster)

I also forgot to add "1 c of bananas" to the written recipe in the picture below.

Wednesday, September 14, 2011

I Wrote Down a Dream I Had Pt I

I had a dream we visited a gift-shop. The store had an "N" out front – for what, I don't know, but it pleased me to think it was the same letter as the name I had before we were married. At first we thought it odd to meander the isles and see framed prom pictures displayed for sale. They looked like they were supposed be generic filler photos, like in the rows of identical frames at Aaron Brothers, only the dresses were several years out of fashion and the faces had the familiar poise we all held at my own prom. Even though we were not at The Grand Canyon a barrel full of the memorabilia that might have dangled on our first keychains stood next to another barrel of "class of 2004" trinkets. We pushed through buckets of wind-up toys and the trading cards I remember stuffing in the pockets of my first backpack in third grade.

I ran into someone I knew from college. Someone who'd been my friend for a very brief, but very lively semester. We were looking at a box of custom, brightly colored aluminum darts that had a fancy "N" for the shop's insignia inscribed on each one; it was the kind of thing an 8-year-old me I would have spent all my prize tickets from the arcade on: commemorative of the visit and slightly hazardous. He didn't seem to recognize its function and I giggled, tossing it at a stack of dart-boards hanging nearby. We laughed together and made a few more attempts before I noticed where my husband spoke to a girl our age at a similar box of trinkets. She aimed a tiny plastic phaser-gun from the box at him – the kind of toy I would proudly carry on my car keys now – and made the sound effects of shooting. He laughed and took it from her, pulling the trigger to show her its automated ability to produce laser-shooting sounds. I was displeased and jealous, but I ignored the moment having just had one of my own.

Others wandered into the shop. I knew some of them vaguely and I could see they knew me, but we were embarrassed at not being able to place each other and avoided one another. The growing popularity pushed us, the original passerbys, further to the back and we passed the shelves of prom pictures, the boxes of knickknacks, and found ourselves among the delicate porcelain and glass arrangements from Grandma's china cabinet. Looking around, my own friend reached high up on a top shelf and pulled down a coveted, vintage polaroid camera, "I wonder if it still works!" He aimed it at the other two and then pulled a stiff lever which gave abruptly – causing him to hit me in the face – and flashed. I remembered why I stopped being his friend.

The flash, interrupting their conversation, prompting them join our conversation. We introduced one another to each other and relayed the stories of how we met. More joined us, inspired by the exchange, to reveal who they were and make an effort to guess at the common events that might have connected us all. As the crowd moved in, the woman clung to my husband as if he were an anchor in a sea of people she wished not to have contact with - I could have been looking in a mirror, but my jealousy was becoming unmanageable and began to pull away. My former friend compared his Polaroid with someone else's found Brownie pin-hole and an even older twin-lensed Rollie-Flex. The exchange over cameras, photography being my own interest, and my place outside the conversation compounded my resentfulness and I elbowed my way completely out of the store, half-hoping to be noticed, half-hoping not to be stopped before I could disappear outside completely.

Sunday, May 22, 2011

Friday, May 20, 2011

Pie of the Week: Grampy's Strawberry and Danica's Banana Pie

My grandparents love me. But perhaps not more than a fresh strawberry pie since that's what they hung up the phone on me for. ;)

It seemed appropriate to stammer loudly into the receiver before *click* "You better send me that recipe!"

And they did! My grandparents love me.

I wasn't sure what to expect for the contents of a strawberry pie. I sort of imagined how gross cherries for cherry pie can look when cooked (despite the wonderful taste) and was already dreading seeing a pound of lovely strawberries under the duress of heat. But as it turned out, you used fresh strawberries and they STAY fresh! Now, in my version of the pie, there are bananas... this is because I accidentally bought the wrong jello mix. In a fit of anger and swearing as I realized my mistake over the boiling pot of sugar and jello power, my brilliant husband simply said, "why not just add bananas?" So I did!

This pie is a lovely "ice box" pie that is served after chilled and from the fridge – best for hot summer nights after a trip to the farmer's market.

Thursday, May 5, 2011

Pie of the Week: My Favorite Color Pie

I hesitate to tell you the ingredients in this pie.... only because of they walk the "vegetable" line and that might turn some people off. At the same time, I think I'm pretty brilliant for coming up with what to do with my same-colored farmer's market leftovers!

Can you guess what my favorite color is?

Honestly – it's green... but orange is a very close second!

Despite the pound of carrots in this pie, it doesn't exactly reminisce of carrot cake. And while it may resemble a pumpkin pie in color and even construction, the sweetness is more subtle than your typical squash dessert. Overall, when served chilled or at room temperature, it's very refreshing!

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