Posts Tagged weather
My husband (G) was on his way home. I hoped his car was nowhere near the storm’s path. I was scared. I’m just not used to the crazy weather here in Florida. (Don’t even mention the H-word).
J and I huddled in the closet and watched monster truck videos on Youtube (his fave is Grave Digger) in between FB checks to see if my nearby friends had news (I trust them more than the weather stations!). Read the rest of this entry »
The sea air and sunshine contributed to the tastiness we experienced this weekend but I’ve had everything-tastes-so-good weekends that cannot be attributed solely to the weather.
- My husband, toddler and I chilled out in the Georgia Mountains for a few days in October. We took a few basic seasonings and winged it in the small kitchen. Sipping on pinot noir, we sang out loud to bluegrass (like Nickel Creek) while spareribs roasted slowly on foil. No hours of smoking. No special blend of spices. Only ketchup and honey for a glaze. We ended up licking sticky sauce from our fingers and watching meat fall off bones while Read the rest of this entry »
Saturday I tasted a sandwich that puzzled me. It was the best one I’d ever eaten and yet I couldn’t detect anything particularly special about it.
My fingers tugged at cling film as my lips rested on a brown bun. My teeth crumbled cheese as my tongue prodded roast chicken. Everything slid together and yet the spinach crunched. Breathing in, the seasonings intensified as I struggled to identify a mystery ingredient.
Mystery unsolved, I regretted answering “no” when my mom asked, “Do you want an extra sandwich for the cooler?” Read the rest of this entry »
Me this weekend: Lips trembling as I mumble (kind of stupidly), “mmmm…yummy…want more now.” Everything I ate made my mouth (and stomach) beg for another bite.
From the snack of smoked sausage eaten while watching the waves (Bee Gees singing in the background, toddler zooming a convertible on the tile floor, mom stirring a cassoulet in the kitchen as I plunge the last bit of sausage into gooping yellow mustard) to the steel cut oats with melting brown sugar cooled slightly by frozen wild blueberries all stirred together and then slugged back with strong coffee as we debated where to play an early round of golf, everything sent me into a drooling stupor.
Lurking deeper, my brain kept asking, “WHY is it so good?”
One night last week my mom posted on Facebook that she and my dad were cozily waiting out the blizzard that was blowing through Manitoba. I woke the next morning imagining snow on the ground. I looked out the window at lush palm trees with a bright blue backdrop and felt lost. I plastered a smile on my face and went upstairs to get my toddler ready for the day. I asked, “What do you want to do today?” He said, “Go to the park, Mommy!” And why not? It is *sigh* 82 degrees out there after all.
Swings, slides, sand (lots of digging) and a couple of hours later, J and I were walking home from the park singing our ABCs. From behind a hedge I heard, “Who’s doing such nice singing?” J pointed and shouted (very very loudly), “Wook Mommy! A wady!” There was a woman in her yard gardening. She chuckled, “A boy with such a nice voice deserves an orange. Come around back and I’ll give you one.” J ran to her and began happily plucking oranges from her tree (never mind that we have about a million on our own trees at home). She then asked J, “Do you like lemonade?” He nodded his head vigorously. “If I give your Mommy some lemons, will she make you some?” We both nodded our heads vigorously.
As we watched her picking round bumpy lemons from her tree I thought, “I wish we had a lemon tree…oh wait, we do have one…but its lemons are small and seedy and taste bitter and …OH MY GOD…they definitely don’t smell like this…would it be weird to bite through the peel and eat the whole thing here in her yard? What if I just stand here holding it up to my nose while breathing deeply?”
After many thank yous we headed home for lunch. Once there J insisted that he didn’t want any lemonade. After all, if life gives you oranges shouldn’t your mom make you orange juice? (How he’s not sick of the stuff by now, I don’t understand). I, on the other hand, had been given lemons and when life gives me lemons I make Citron Pressé.
We moved from Canada to Florida nearly two years ago. Last year around this time I wrote the piece found below. The phrase “It IS Thanksgiving Here” is in response to an episode of the podcast Cast On. Cast On is meant to be listened to while knitting (or crocheting or spinning). But this particular episode, called ‘Thanksgiving Special: A Snow Day,’ is not related to the fiber arts. It is instead about a particular day in the life of the show’s host, Brenda Dayne. She’s an American woman living in Wales who has not celebrated Thanksgiving in years. The reason is, as she says, “It’s not Thanksgiving here and Thanksgiving is not something that can be faked.” With nobody else celebrating, it doesn’t really feel like a holiday, until one day when it suddenly does. It’s a lovely broadcast. I think of it often.
While my friends and family back in Canada look out the window at that storm, I’m sitting in balmy warmth remembering childhood holidays filled with waves upon a tropical shore. The white blanketed images that I’ve seen posted on Facebook (it’s up to your knees out there!) make me want to cook something warm and comforting while listening to the fireplace roar. But in this Central Florida November heat, do I really want to be near a fire, or even worse, slaving away in a hot kitchen? The answer is no.
This roast pork recipe is exactly what I’ll need for a comfy but simple Sunday dinner this weekend. It’s hearty but is brightened by the oranges from my backyard tree, now heavy with fruit. The ingredients are prepped and then cooked in one roasting pan in the oven, thus reducing the amount of time I’ll have to spend in a hot kitchen.