On a whim, I picked up a book off the display rack at the library. I liked the cover because it had a row of cream colored mugs hanging from hooks along the top with the backdrop of a sort of sea bass green wall behind. I was sold when I discovered the word “homemade” in the title. Yes, I’m a sucker for marketing as is my mother before me.
For a snap judgement that ignored age old wisdom, my choice turned out to be a good one. A Homemade Life: Stories and Recipes From My Kitchen Table by Molly Wizenberg is actually a fantastic collection of memoirs and recipes. These just happen to be “a few of my favorite things,” so to speak. Since picking it up, I’ve not actually used any of Molly’s recipes. However, I have done what I consider a better thing and begun experimenting in the kitchen again. A canister of ice cream, a couple of salads, and weeks worth of fresh iced tea later, I am just getting warmed up. (And I’ve found that for more culinary inspiration, I can keep up with Molly on her blog, Orangette.)
The other thing I realized as I reflected on my reading is that everyone has food stories. Most of my best memories from college revolve the creation of my “school family” over various meals. (Nothing brings college kids together like the smell of baked pasta, let me tell you.) With little prompting, I got Mom reminiscing aloud regarding penny candy at Midget Market. Even Dad–who is not given to vivid sentimental recollections–was telling me recently that he still thinks of his mom every time he eats soft boiled eggs.
All this to say, although I’ve mentioned “food adventures” in the About Me page, there’s been a notable lack of recipes here. I’m hoping to be able to bring a few more of those to the table in the coming weeks. (Haha, food puns are the best. :D) Meanwhile, lunchtime.
An Audacious Poet 