30 years.  3 decades. 1,565.32 weeks.  Even more days, hours, minutes, and seconds.   30 years of heart beats and breaths.  30 years where smiles have outnumbered frowns.  Laughter has been abundant.  Tears have been rare.  Cities have been explored and oceans have been swam.  Miles have been walked, ran, and flown.   Friendships forged and loves lost.  There have been high hopes and big dreams alongside stinging disappointments and slight blunders.

While the past 30 years (especially the previous 5+) have seemingly flown by with little resistance (and I am sure the next 30 will do the same)…I am honestly and wholeheartedly  looking forward to this upcoming decade.  I would be lying if there haven’t been moments in the past year where I have slightly freaked out about turning 30…they weren’t moments of comparison between my position in life and that of others.  We all lead different lives at varying paces.  However, do you ever feel like you are just tumbling along like a rogue sock in this big dryer called life?  Yeah…moments of feeling lost in the shuffle have made me apprehensive about turning 30.   I guess I always assumed 30 year olds didn’t tumble.  30 year olds knew what they wanted.  They walked confidently.  How naive my younger self was.  While I  don’t feel like I am tumbling about, but have gracefully graduated to gentle stumbling…I think learning how to confidently walk is what awaits me/us in our 30’s.  And you are silly if you can’t find the joy in that.

Birthdays have a tendency to be celebrated with layered cakes and multiple scoops of chocolate ice cream and rivers of hot fudge and mountains of whipped cream and showers of sprinkles.  However, after I recently had a rather heated (ha!) text message conversation with a friend over the best cake flavor (chocolate versus spice), we both realized that cake was our 4th favorite dessert.  Who argues over their 4th favorite dessert?  Pies, cookies, and brownies are favored over cake…all day, every day.  So, on this 30th birthday of mine…there will be no cake, but  a dessert I have made no less than 5 times in the past 3 weeks.  A favorite of mine?  Perhaps.

The simplicity that is a crisp is why I favor this dessert in the spring/summer.  A few cups of fruit that is hanging about the house, tossed with some sugar, a thickener, and perhaps a squeeze of a lemon or lime…topped with a quick crumble and in no time you have a dessert that will please everyone and anyone.  Young and old.  Friends, coworkers, and family. 

Plus, when you have a friend who supplies you with bundles of rhubarb because it grows in abundance behind her house ( I give thanks to whoever owned the house prior to her … we would have been fast friends as well) and when the strawberries are sweet and delicious … my mind can think of nothing else besides strawberry and rhubarb.  Rhubarb and strawberry.  It is the only thing I have been pumping out of my kitchen.

So, while I enjoy a bowl of warm strawberry rhubarb crisp and say adieu to my roaring twenties…I am giddy and anxiously awaiting what my 30’s will  have in store for little old(er) me.  Cheers!

The post They say it’s your birthday / It’s my birthday too, yeah appeared first on Fork vs. Spoon.

Food is quite the memory jogger.  A trigger of sorts.  Much like music.  Or certain smells.

I don’t know if everyone is like this, but I want to think that a warm chocolate chip cookie takes everyone back to their childhood – I think my first memory of a chocolate chip cookie and looking back, probably the first time I took comfort from food or felt love through its simple preparation, was when our first childhood dog – ‘Puppy’ – original, I know…died.

I was curled up on dad’s lap in our old gray (it wasn’t old yet) recliner and I was sobbing and mom, from the kitchen, offered to make cookies – ‘maybe that will make us feel better’.  I don’t remember the taste of the cookies or if we even ate them that night – I am sure we did, with large glasses of milk and spoons to fish out soggy lost bits and pieces. What I remember, as dad sat reassuring us that Puppy was in heaven causing ruckus up there, was that mom, while also mourning the loss of her beloved dog (even though she would holler and throw spoons in his direction from the back door when he would bark and howl), took time to bake us cookies – hoping they would ease our tears and cheer us up a bit.  Which, I am sure they did.

Cookies have that sort of power.  Especially if mom is making them.

Oatmeal Scotchies … guess what..you got it, comes with a memory.  Like any cookie, they remind me of my grandma.  As most things I bake do, but these are most definitely a Shirley memory.  On Wednesday evenings, grandma had church choir practice or perhaps it was the Women’s Society meeting…all I know, is that she was at church on Wednesday nights and the church was just 2 blocks from our house.  Therefore, Wednesday nights always guaranteed a visit from grandma and she normally brought a bake good ( and I wonder where I get this habit from).  Cookies or pie.  And if it was cookies…4 out of 5 times, they would be chewy oatmeal scotchies.

As grandma and mom sat and chit chatted and gossiped … we 3 kids scarfed down cookies, leaving just crumbs behind.  Sore jaws and crumbs.

I hadn’t had an oatmeal scotchie in years.  Years!  Quite devastating, seeing how the recipe for these magic little guys are on the back of the bag of Nestle butterscotch chips.  And when something is this good, there is really no need to tinker with the recipe.  Well, I kinda did…I added roasted pecans, because pecans kind of rock in cookies.  No?

Of all the cakes, cookies, and pies I have taken into work…I believe these cookies received the most hubbub.  The container was returned with a pleading of it being refilled with more.  People were hiding and stowing away cookies in lockers.  They were being eaten 2 and 3 at a time.  I wanna believe it was because these cookies were not only chewy and delicious, but because their flavor and texture and slight hint of cinnamon took them back.

Back to grandmas, school lunches, after school snacks, Wednesday nights.

Adapted from Nestle TollHouse

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Well, Hello there!

Katie from Katie at the Kitchen Door and I are joining forces today.  If you have never been to her blog – you must, you just have to head over there.  Katie is oh so talented…her talents in the kitchen and behind the camera are out of this world.  When she asked me to write a guest post for her blog, while she is on vacation, I couldn’t but jump at the chance.

And if you are visiting my little space on the Internet because you are wandering over here from Katie’s blog….then you totally know what I am talking about.  She is awesome, right?!?  And welcome!  I am so very glad to have you here today.

Let’s get going!

The sun is shining.  The trees are budding.  Daffodils are waving ever so slightly in the breeze.  Tulips are testing the waters…soon to be in full bloom.  The grass is growing fast and furious, aided by the April showers.  Spring is starting to slowly and finally roll into Ohio.  It has been a long winter and we want nothing more than warm afternoons and long lazy evenings.  Spring in Ohio requires us to practice patience.

In the spring, we have this internal urge to clean out the old and bring in new.  Start fresh – Spring, to me,  has always represented a new year more so than January 1st ever has.  Something takes hold and before we know it windows are being cleaned, floor boards scrubbed, closets sorted and organized, and if you are me – fridges and freezers are overhauled.  It has been a long winter – heaven only knows what I have stocked and stored away over the cold months.  I am like a squirrel hoarding nuts.  So it was no surprise to me when I found 2 extra bags of fresh frozen cranberries in my freezer last week.  Left over from Thanksgiving/Christmas.  Stored away just in case.  Just in case I needed to whip up a cranberry sauce.  Or jam.  Or needed a another loaf of orange cranberry bread.

Honestly, I had forgotten about them.  Big Surprise.  So, when Katie asked me to guest blog and I was scratching my head and standing in front of my refrigerator wondering what recipe I would offer her readers…I spotted the cranberries.  And instantly thought…I bet there are more people out there like me.  Spring cleaning and finding extra bags of cranberries (among many other things… why do I buy so many packages of frozen spinach?!?).

I know, I know…cranberries are generally eaten around winter holidays, but I think they are perfect this time of year ( and I am not just saying this because I have an abundance).  They have a bright tart flavor, matching the feeling of an early spring afternoon.  A coffee cake with a thin layer of sweetened cranberries and a coconut streusel top is just what a Sunday afternoon calls for.   A lazy Sunday afternoon spent on your porch, soaking up the sunshine, getting lost in a good book, with baseball on the radio in the back ground.  All while you nibble away on an extra large piece of coffee cake that is studded with little flecks of vanilla bean.  And coffee.  Lots of coffee.  Always coffee.

Adapted from Gourmet December 2008

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 You may remember last year. 

We are all a year older….and none the wiser.

Apparently we didn’t get enough of  mud, dirt, and grime.

Didn’t get enough of the camaraderie and team work.

Didn’t get enough of the 20 foot walls and electrical shock.

First, as the picture above shows….we have added a member to our small crazy team.

Four strong.

Matt, Shawn, Me, and Jeff.

Second, if you aren’t familiar with the Tough Mudder.  Check them out.

It always begins (and will end) with a bus ride.

Yellow school bus, bus ride.

Followed by packet pick up and baggage drop-off.

Then, bib numbers on forehead.

And always, me finding my inner-Elvis.

And this year, Jeff and I were chosen to record a bit for a Tough Mudder commercial.

Fingers crossed we make the cut!

To make it to the starting line…there is a wall to climb, or in my case, a wall to be boosted over.

Remember at the end…my socks were once PINK.

Overall, there are about 20 obstacles within the 10 mile course.

Monkey bars and rings ( I consider them swimming events) to muddy trenches and log carrying.

Andrea, my awesome sister-in-law, traipsed through the muck and the mud – along with Matt’s mom, girlfriend, and sister – and took all the pictures you are about to see.

Huge kudos goes out to them!!

We might be crazy.  This dude was bonkers.

Keep Calm and Chive On!

Kiss of Mud or army crawl under barbed wire.  No bigs.

 Nice and muddy brings a smile to my face.

Arctic Enema.

aka…fill a construction sight waste bin with ice and a touch of water.

Cold is an understatement.

Muddy Mile.

Or…claw, dig, climb over loosely packed muddy mounds and slide/jump/fall into water filled trenches (of unknown depth)…and repeat x 8.

Post muddy mile.

Stairway to Heaven.  Or was it Hell?  Glad I climbed fences when I was a kid.

Conversation between Jeff and I at the top…

“mom can never come to one of these” – me

“yeah, no joke” – Jeff.

Walk…

The…

Plank.

Boa Constrictor.

Claustrophobics need not apply.

Matt just dove in.

You go in and down…

Across, in, and back up.

Being short has its advantages here…

Everest.  Oiled/mud slicked quarter pipe.  Same thing.

It takes a bit of contemplation.

Some game planning.

A bit of praying.

First up, Jeff.

Boom.  Boom.  Pow.

With one of my guys up there…it was my turn.

With Jeff pulling UP and some random guy grabbing my ass…I made it up and over.

Matt…Killed. It.

Hands out…ready for Shawn.

This is my favorite shot.

It sums up the entire event.

Shawn.  Up.  and Over.

We are 4 for 4.

The guys hung out up top for a bit…until their spots were taken by other tough mudders…

Without the help of others, 99% of us would never be able to complete this obstacle.

Fact.

Next up, Electroshock therapy…

Matt bites it first.

And then Shawn goes down.

I get it on the hay bales…

Goes down Jeoff.

We. Are. Tough. Mudders.

The electrical shock may have caused damage.

Michigan, you are next.

#Gemini.

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It was just good.

First, The. Sun. Was. SHINING.  All.  Day.  Long.  It was sunny.  Sunny to the point that I actually applied a nice layer of sunblock on my delicate face and the pale skin that can only belong to an Ohioan after a long winter.  But I am skipping ahead.  Let me start at the beginning…I awoke to NO alarm clock.  Any day that this happens is considered a good day.  Fact.  6am was what the clock read, I think. My eyes were a touch foggy since I have a terrible habit of sleeping with my contacts in, a habit that I just can’t seem to break.  But it was 6am-ish.  And guess what?  I rolled right back over and fell right back to sleep until 8am.  Because 8am is more suitable on a weekend than 6.  I keep the 6am hour for work and vacation – yeah, I am that girl on vacation.

So, 8am … Stan (resident cat, lets not mistake a cat for a dude) and I stumble our way down the stairs and I mean stumble…he has a way of tripping me up on the stairs.  He will be the reason I fall down or up my stairs.  Him and/or bourbon.  God forbid they conspire against me.  I turn on the tea kettle and grind some coffee.  Weekend mornings call for french press coffee.  Dark and rich and bold and strong…talking coffee here, not men  While the coffee is steeping, eggs are in the making.  2 eggs scrambled with a pat of salted butter.  Sprinkle of kosher salt and a touch of black pepper.  Layered over a piece of extra toasted toast and smashed up avocado.  Grated extra sharp cheddar cheese rounds off the open faced breakfast sandwich.

I curl up on the couch…breakfast in one hand.  Steaming hot creamy coffee in the other.  The TV comes to life and I start watching CBS Sunday Morning Show.  This show is heavily influenced by the previous week’s happenings – Boston being center stage.  My thoughts have been with the people of Boston all week and Sunday is no different.  While I nibble on my breakfast and make a total mess – I may have piled it too high with avocado and egg, but it is something I can deal with – my coffee has cooled to the temperature of drinkable.  The morning show wanders to talking to Alan Alda and I am transported to high school physics class where we watched Scientific American Frontiers and celebrated his birthday with cheesecake.  I really like Alan Alda’s laugh.  His whole face lights up and his eyes dance.  It is true and honest.  I also learn that Shirley Temple is still alive and on Tuesday will turn 85.  On my 29 and 11/12th birthday – Shirley Temple turns 85.  Honestly, I assumed she had passed.  Pleasant surprise to find her still kicking.

The show ends and I amble back into the kitchen with my dirty dishes and a coffee refill – my second of numerous.  I know I need to run today – Sundays are generally reserved for long-ish runs, but I also want to bee-bop around the kitchen.  I compromise with myself.  Run.  Cook.  Deal.  Plus, running now means I can catch the Indians afternoon game.  We are in baseball season, full swing.

I lace up my over-worn, oddly laced Mizuno running shoes, toss on my favorite green running jacket, grab my phone and earbuds (just in case I need a distraction), and shoot out the door.  I have made myself a promise…today will be slow and enjoyable.  This is difficult for me.  Not that I am fast – ha! – I do however have a habit of going hard on all runs.  I focus on time and distance and little else.  Today I told myself I would run through the park – Cleveland has one hell of a metropark system – and actually take in my surroundings.  Walk if necessary.  Stop and snap a few pics of my favorite spots.  Capture the valley in early spring.  The dark brown of the still bare trees is such a contrast to the bright green of the forest ground that is starting to peek through the leaves and overgrowth from the previous season.  The river is rushing and washing away the grime of winter.  There are fisherman wading out into the shallow depths of the river to catch whatever fish is running this time of year – I think most just like to stand in the middle of a river and watch it rush past them.  It’s a good place to think.  I nod in acknowledgement as I jog past.  Turning to snap a quick picture of them with my iPhone – Instagram is always in my head.  I run on the bridle trail in hopes of passing a horse or two, but today I only see couples with their dogs.  I run over 4 bridges and hear my feet make contact with wooden planks…so loud compared to the soft dirt I have been running on.  I catch a man and his son walking along the river.  I stop and snap.  The weeping willows catch my eye as they droop over the river and their rope like branches turning almost lime green with new buds.  They are the first to turn.  3 miles fly by and I keep going.

Up ahead, I can turn left and make my way back home or jog a bit further and hit my favorite spot along the 13 miles of path that leads straight into Lake Erie.  I jog further.  It is a no brainer.  My legs feel good, my feet aren’t bothering me, my breath is easy.  There is a swing set on my right.  They are empty, which saddens me…swings should be filled with giggling children and adults who will always be young at heart.  I have an urge to stop and swing, but I need to run.  I make it by a flock of geese, who for once, leave me alone – why are they so mean?  and finally I arrive at my favorite spot.

It isn’t anything special.  It is across the street from the Rocky River Nature Center….there is a wide rocky dirt path that descends straight to the river.  The shore is shale rock and crunches beneath your feet.  The river is shallow and in warmer months will be filled with children wading along the edges.  The opposing side of the river is a rocky cliff, where erosion lines can be seen – an earth science lesson in the making.  There are a few houses perched on its ledge, but they are so high above, one barely notices they are there.  I think one is red.  I run out onto the shore … coming to a walk and taking in what I know will be there.  There is a man with his young son on my right…they are hopping across the huge stone boulders that run the width of the river there…a dam of sorts.  A family of 5 to my left.  I pass the family, who is trying to teach their youngest child how to skip rocks.  A task he is too young for, but is trying his darndest at.   You see, the shale that is beneath our feet is perfect (perhaps not the best because it is light in weight) but pretty darn good for skipping across water.  This is why I love this spot.  The simple pleasure of being able to skip a stone across a body of water is pure satisfaction.  Three skips?  Good.  Try for four.  Four?  Fantastic.  Try for five.  If you have brothers, there is gentle competition.  Teaching a child how to skip stones and seeing their excitement when it takes to skips across the water for the very first time.  It is a good thing.  I wander the shore searching for a few good stones to skip and give them a side armed toss.  I get 4 skips.  I am content.  I walk the short shore as far as I can before it runs out and I climb up the steep edge of the river bed and find myself on the trail again.  I turn to go back.

I do not follow the bridle path back…as that would be a 10 mile long run – more than I had intended and therefore I take the roads that lead me back home – they are as good as the path that runs through the park.  They are lined with horse farms.  Pastures and wooden fences.  And horses.  A reminder that the land I now live on, scattered with developments and city-like life was once, not long ago, farm land.  I think I would have liked it better then.  I’d take a pasture over a Target any day.  This I assure you.  The road is narrow and I must be watchful of traffic…stepping into the ditch if two cars are passing at once.  And there is one hell of a hill.  A hill that makes a car chug let alone me.  I push up it.  One step at a time.  At times I feel like I am barely gaining any ground.  My arms are pumping and my legs are screaming.  I keep telling myself that hills were meant for short people.  I don’t know.  It gets me up the hill.  I think about the equation for work, it equals force x distance.  My brain is a funny thing.  A breather is necessary at the top – I walk 100 yards before running again.

The horses are out today.  My first one is on my right.  He/she is brown and white.  The white has brown freckles scattered about.  She (as I think this is the truth) has a bit of a sway back and is grazing happily on the new grass.  I stop to snap a pic and she looks up.  I wave and move on.  I have more horses to visit.   Two more on my right are eating and the pasture to my left is empty as they are repairing fences.  Finally, I make it to my favorite small red barn.  Dark red with one door open, its light interior brown a stark contrast to the red, and the top half of the other door is open.  For a horse, if ever the urge struck, to stick just his head out to test the weather.    Normally, there is just one horse in and around the barn.  But today there are two.  It looks like it was an exciting spring on this farm.  I stop and snap a picture.  They just stare at me.  Those big eyes.  I stare for another second and turn and take off.  My run is soon to be over, my house is just around the corner.  I slow it up a bit and enjoy the last half mile.   8 miles.  Not bad.

The day is not half way over yet and I feel refreshed and complete.  Nature, sunshine, and horses can do that.  A good sweat and physical exertion is the ultimate mood booster.  The remaining bit of  Sunday afternoon was spent listening to Tom Hamilton call an Indian’s win and saw me cooking a chicken tikka masala that will leave me with leftovers until Friday.  I cut into a cranberry coffee cake that is meant for a guest post later next week on a friends’ blog and will be devoured at work on Monday.   The light is perfect and I stand on a chair and take pictures of a coffee cake in my kitchen.  I finally sit down on the chair and grab a fork and bite by bite, indulge in a slice of cake before dinner, with yet, another cup of coffee.

Sunday was easy and good.

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Morning shows are not generally my thing…unless we are talking Sportscenter – then I am totally game.  As a female, I feel the need to explain this habit.  You see, I grew up with brothers…therefore, mornings were comprised of Frosted Flakes and SportsCenter and after 18+ years of this ‘torture’, don’t ya know I found myself actually enjoying the darn show.  To the point that I continued to watch it throughout college (where I then insisted that my roommates watch – a childhood without control of the remote makes you quite the dictator later in life).  During my pre-cable-lessness days (aka Amish living) – I have begun dating my life pre and post cable... ESPN/SportsCenter is what you would find on my TV, all morning long – because as you know (or maybe you don’t), SportsCenter will replay, hour after hour, until about noon.  It restarts without much warning and before you know it – you have watched the Top Ten Plays 3 times and the morning is gone.  It happens to the best of us.  But post cable world…I am SportsCenter-less.  Whomp, whomp!  And honestly, it was the hardest part to the whole no cable thing…ESPN.  But I have survived and while my mornings aren’t the same (besides being a tad bit more productive) I have found a replacement of sorts, NBC.  It isn’t a fair trade or even remotely a good substitution…but it is what it is and I am too damn stubborn to return to cable because of the remarks from the peanut galleries of the world.  And in all reality, I don’t miss paying the cable bill.  So NBC it is.

What does ESPN have to do with a stir-fry?  Well hold your panties…I will tell you… had I been watching SportsCenter I would not have seen this dish being prepared on Hoda and Kathy Lee – ya know, the 20th hour of the Today Show.  In the 20th hour, there is a lot of wine and mishaps and bad jokes – my kind of morning entertainment.  Cooking on morning shows generally drives me up-the-wall- bonkers…you can not properly show how to roast a chicken (with 3 sides) in a 10 minute time slot.  You are not serving any purpose and confusing/intimidating instead of encouraging folks to don an apron and get cookin.  But a stir fry…these are meant for 10 minute time slots…and perhaps that is why this recipe caught my eye.

Asparagus season is upon us and I am jumping whole heartedly into this shindig.  I have eaten it nightly for the past week or so -which also means that my pee has smelled gawd-awful for the past week or so – but you probably didn’t need to know that, but whenever someone brings up asparagus, talk of pee is sure to follow.  But let’s get back to the tender skinny stalks of green with the spiky spear heads that just asked to be sauted or roasted.  Or made into soups or dipped into a creamy hollandaise sauce.

Asparagus is what dreams are made of.  At least until I eat so much that I can’t stand to look at another spear…but that takes a bit of time.  And when it is mixed with the fresh bite of ginger and toasted sesame seeds and tossed with briny sweet shrimp and nutty farro…I may never tire.

I recommend this served hot for a quick and healthy week night meal and then eaten cold the next day as a cold farro salad in the lunchroom – surrounded by drooling co workers who wish you had made extra.

And I was just thinking…red bell peppers would be a great addition to this.  Toss it in if ya got one hanging about.

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I am at a loss for words.

The Boston Marathon is weighing pretty heavily on my brain.

As a human being.  As an American.  As a runner.  As a marathoner.  I am saddened.

I don’t understand acts of violence.  I don’t understand harming innocent people.

Young, old.  Men, women.

I don’t understand the thought process behind the ruining of precious human lives.  Forever altering the course of so many.

I simply don’t understand.

I can not wrap my mind around it.

What can possibly be proven by this?

I am not sure I will ever understand.

My thoughts and prayers to those in and around Boston.  To those whose lives will never be the same.  To those who will always question why?  To those that lost loved ones today…on a day that should have been a day of celebration and victory and accomplishment…my thoughts and prayers are with you.

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Cookies make life better.

It is a simple fact.

A fact in life that I am 189% sure of.  And I am not sure of a lot of things.

But cookies…Cookies I know.  Cookies are a sure thing.  Cookies make life better.

Fact.

Cookies are meant for sack lunches, brown paper bags and field trips.  Lunch rooms and cafeterias.  Packed by loving parents. Baked the night before.

Cookies are meant to bring smiles to faces, young and old.  They sweeten a hard day at work or school.  Midnight binge eating was designed with cookies in mind.

Everyone has a favorite type.  A favorite add-in.  A preferred texture.  It is one question that most people have a definite answer to.  Chocolate chip.  Oatmeal raisin.  Shortbread. Peanut Butter.

I am a girl that likes a cookie with chocolate…and yes, I know, if we are keeping track…this is about the fifth chocolate cookie on this site.  What can I say…I know what I like.

Cocoa powder.  Semi-sweet chocolate.  Mini Chocolate chips.  Three types of chocolate = triple chocolate cookies.  Thick and chewy.

Forewarning…a tall glass of cold milk is necessary.  And if you are like me…make it chocolate.

* adapted from Baking Illustrated.

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Can we have a lunch date?  Or perhaps a long lingering brunch with eggs to dip my buttered toast or blueberry pancakes piled high and soaked in maple syrup?  And bacon.  We could chit chat about our day/week/month…those that lie ahead and those we have whizzed right through.

We will mutter and be exasperated by the speed at which time is passing…and then laugh at how we sound like our mothers.  We will acknowledge that this discussion is customary – to be expected, we bring up time flying by as often as old men talk about the weather…something we say out of fear of having nothing to say.  God forbid a lull in conversation.  We will say it has been forever since we have seen eachother and then blame it on the racing clocks.  The rising and setting of the sun will be our scapegoat for falling behind.  It happens.  We all do it.  It’s OK.

There will be talk of kids, because seriously, who doesn’t have a whole crew by now?  Which is bonkers and crazy and all sorts of awesome.  I will listen intently about vomit and breast feeding (having no experience in either, all I can do is lend my ear) and be secretly waiting for the story of when your child told an inappropriate story to his pre-school teacher or repeated a curse word in public.

We will talk books and movies and music – have you purchased JT’s new album?  No?  Me neither…but I did watch History of Rap 1-4 numerous times and remained awake for most of his SNL performance…I prefer his humor over his musical talents.  You will say it is because I like to laugh.  I would not be able to disagree.  We would both agree, however, that there is something about a man in a suit and tie.  And then I will bring up Daniel Craig.

You will most surely ask about my dating life and I yours if you, too, are single.  If you are off the market, I will laugh while rolling my eyes and try to explain the world that is dating…And if you are wading through the dating scene alongside me, we will recount dates gone ary and sigh with relief that we are not alone in this.  Single or married…we will both agree that texting, while handy and adored, has probably inhibited/ran a muck many a relationships…and has caused much more confusion than clarity.   And what are the rules in regards to social media?  Oy.  Are there rules?  It was easier when we just called people.  On the telephone.  That was attached to the wall in the kitchen and had a cord that reached all rooms of the house.

I’ll ask you if I should chop my hair.  The thought has being passing through lately.  However, short hair will make my helmet hair that much worse come riding season, which I am itching to start.   We will decide to hold off on any chopping…especially since I just learned to work these spiral bobby pin thingys.  I have mastered (and let me use that world lightly) the messy bun…which I am most definitely sure is not sexy, but is more gentle on my hair.

…this article  will crack us up and we will agree with the entirity of it, especially this line….  “I want a man— and this is the theory by which I live— only sees me in a room of a thousand girls and picks me a thousand days in a row, no questions asked. I want the guy who tells me, every day, that I rock my cardigan— hard!— and who appreciates a good pairing of a cardigan and some Chuck Taylors.”   Amen.

I will talk about wanting to move somewhere with milder winters and warm falls and early springs.  I will bring up Tennessee, which will lead us to talk about San Diego…it’s a natural segway.  Trust me.  I always have this itch/urge to move, to see, to travel, to change, to experience.  A touch of wanderlust has always lived within, but I have rarely, if ever acted upon it.  Maybe one day.

And since we are friends, I will provide you some sort of bake good in a mismatched Ziplock container.  Green bottom, blue top.  Red bottom, tinfoil top – Proper lids escape me.  You will probably trade me for an empty container.  I am sorry if you are watching what you eat.  I am a poor influence.  I think Oprah would call me an enabler.  I wear the badge proudly.

The waiter/waitress will clear our dirty dishes, refill our coffee, and politely ask if they can provide any other service….we are close to overstaying our welcome.  The check will come and since no one ever has cash anymore, or is that just me?  - a single credit card will be laid upon the bill, while the other vows to pick up the tab the next time around.  One will insist and the other will surrender.

A quick hug, a smile, and a wave and we will depart – well fed,  happier and fulfilled.

Today just went from good to better.

Thank you!

The post Lately… appeared first on Fork vs. Spoon.

I have taken a bit of a break.  Unexpected and unintentional….

Nights where I would normally plop down and flip on the TV to something mundane and focus most of my attention on editing photos – just a bit of a tweak…up-ing the contrast or brightness – not a whole lot, because in all honesty, I don’t understand photoshop one bit.  And then I try to write something down … generally the thoughts in my brain flood these pages….and more often than not, the words and thoughts have nothing to do with the recipes I post.  Which is fine.  And that is why I love blogging…there are no rules.  You can over share, under share.  It is up to you.  Or me.  More me than you…unless, you too, have a blog…which in that case you probably totally agree with me.

These nights of blogging haven’t been happening as of late.  Vegging out on the couch with a bourbon cocktail of some sort (or hot chocolate because it is still freaking freezing here in the great state of Ohio)  and watching Skyfall one more time or trying to watch Downton Abby Season 2  - which I just can’t get into.  I am a minority on this one, aren’t I?  My mind won’t stay focused.  Half way through and I am on Twitter.  Or find myself cleaning the kitchen.  Or looking for brownies in the freezer.  ADHD anyone?   Ugh.  I need Ritalin to watch Downton Abby.  I think I am calling it quits.  On to the next series.  I am taking recommendations. Anyone?

But here I am …getting back into some sort of routine.

WIth routine comes lemon tart, naturally.  There may be snow on the ground or freezing rain falling from the sky (ugh, really Ohio?)…but my daffodils are peeping through the ground and my mind is thinking spring.  As is my stomach.

Lemons are full on spring.  Right?  Bright and sunshiny….being that they are yellow.  Just makes sense.

Gather ingredients for your shortbread crust.  Carry them around in your favorite pie plate you may have swiped from your grandma.  The crack on the far edge makes me smile.  I am a lover of imperfections.

Your crust will need a lightly beaten egg.

Egg is like food spackle.   I work great with food spackle.  Real spackle.  Not. So. Much.

Fingerprinted crust.  You will need to Instagram this bad boy.  Normal, right?

I have a tendency to Instagram my weekend baking moments.

Bear with me.

Lemons.

Bright.  Sunshine.  Happy.

Voila!

And if I must be honest…this tart was epic, if I may say so myself.

And I will.

Epic, people.

Epic.

And delicious.

Tart. Bright. Sweet.

Just what this dreary March is in desperate need of.

* lemon curd filling adapted from David Lebovitz

The post Lemon Tart appeared first on Fork vs. Spoon.