PRAIRIE FARE Does Gardening Really Count as Exercise?
When I was very young I loved to help with gardening. Squash, pumpkin and bean seeds were easily within my planting capability. Im not sure I ever graduated to the manual dexterity needed for planting... Posted on 5/16/15 at 12:22 PM
EVERYDAY GOURMET Lemon Chili Pasta
I first posted this recipe a few years ago and decided to re-post it because it has such a special place in my stomach heart. I love the ease of preparing it. It can be done in 10 minutes, start to fi... Posted on 4/25/15 at 6:01 AM
THIS WOMAN WRITES Recipe: Save Money Pork Stew
Theoretically, stew is supposed to be a cheap meal, because it's a conglomeration of inexpensive ingredients -- namely vegetables -- with a little bit of meat. The idea is to stretch out that little... Posted on 3/18/14 at 1:29 PM
SHOOTIN' THE WIT An Italian dish - American Style
When you think Italian, most people picture delicious food. You know fabulous pasta dishes like youd order at Olive Garden and Johnny Carinos!
This was the perception I had until a visit to Italy las... Posted on 2/15/11 at 12:05 PM
What is it about a sandwich that makes it so loved? Maybe it’s the ease of preparation. The fact that there’s almost no cleanup involved certainly doesn’t hurt. And who doesn’t appreciate the simplicity of eating out of hand?
Rhubarb pushing through the cold earth is one of the first signs of spring. Eating rhubarb is one of the first joys that come when longer days turn winter to spring and spring to summer. Lucky for us, rhubarb loves cool weather.
“Now don’t turn your nose up yet. Just give it a try.” Those were my mom’s words the first time she served chili that she made with ground turkey rather than ground beef. We looked at my mom in disbelief. How could she do this? Why would she do this? Ground turkey in chili was just not right.
As soon as the greenhouses started advertising their opening for the season, I made a decision. I will not spend another summer borrowing fresh herbs from other people’s gardens. No. I’m done with that.
Every year, during the week before Easter, I make my pound cakes. Using the best butter I can buy, lots of eggs, flour and sugar along with my favorite flavorings, I bake at least one cake in an old cast-iron lamb mold that has been handed down to me through generations of use in my dad’s family.
Not one drop of Irish blood runs through my body, but every year on St. Patrick’s Day, I am Irish. My desire to be Irish began during my grade school days in a St. Paul suburb where the teachers advised their students that only those who were Irish could wear green. The others must wear orange. That meant no fluffy little green shamrock pin for me.
“OK, that’s number three for you.” As a youngster, my son Andy kept close track of how many pancakes each person around the table would eat. Each time we dipped into the pan in the middle of the table for another pancake, he would announce our count loudly. We were used to this. But when friends joined us for breakfast, Andy’s calculations could cause some to blush and others to stop eating.
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