“Daylight savings time is almost here. We can’t forget to move the clocks forward,” my husband commented the other day. “Oh, no. I have a hard time with losing an hour of sleep when we ‘spring ahead,’ ” I replied.
“Mom, I just had the best cookies ever! I ate a bunch at the dining center. You need to make them at home,” my 18-year-old son exclaimed, practically salivating.
As I pondered a potential column topic, someone tossed an idea my way. How about writing something about frozen foods? I must admit, after our intensely cold winter, I am dreaming of hot, grilled foods cooked and eaten outdoors on a warm day. Thinking about frozen food made me shiver.
“What’s that?” I asked as I breezed through the kitchen, noting a pot of simmering stew. My husband was head chef that evening and was trying a new recipe.
I flipped on a reality-type TV show one day. A camera crew captured footage of someone climbing over a mountain of boxes, clothing and trash to get around his home. The piles were so high that his head nearly touched the ceiling.
“I can’t talk,” my husband said in a raspy voice that reminded me of the lead character in “The Godfather” movie. Our daughters and I looked at him. I could see he was able to breathe, and I knew what the issue was.
“Mom, you look like the little old lady rabbit in ‘Good Night, Moon’,” my 10-year-old daughter said with a laugh. I was sitting in my comfortable chair covered with a blanket while attempting to knit.
I have been leery of pressure cookers most of my life. Like many people of my generation, I grew up eating lots of soups and stews prepared in our family’s pressure cooker.
While at home on a holiday break, I had a little more time to invest in food preparation than I usually have, so I decided we would focus our cooking efforts on foods from around the world.
The other day I stumbled upon a piece of food-related literature my husband bought for me several years ago. It caught his eye on a newsstand.
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