I didn't grow up eating beans. Well, canned green beans were presented on a plate, overcooked and gray. Unseasoned lima beans, pasty in color and consistency, were thrust upon us every couple of weeks. Canned peas, which I could barely tolerate. But not garbanzo beans, or black eyed peas, or black beans, small red kidney... Continue Reading →
GFAF, a Complaint
Thanksgiving has been stalking me like a shadow this year, peering out around the corner weeks ago, with its gluten-centric traditional dishes passed down on my family line;
Holidays are Joyful?
Parts of my family like each other, and I *really* like parts of my family, but taken as a whole, my extended family should just not be in the same room.
Put a Cork in It!
I swooped into the backyard of the owner of the grapes and picked to my heart's content.
Here I Go, Here I Go, Here I Go Again
My husband is the sweetest guy you'll ever meet. And nobody but NOBODY tries as hard as he does to get things right. But damn it all if he isn't one of the most insecure cooks on the planet. In the kitchen, it's as if he's been stripped of all his powers, and is feeling... Continue Reading →
Meg Currell 