Month: February 2013

lamb

spoon fed

I will not bore or horrify you with further scenes from the front.  No blow-by-blow on the ewe with the prolapse and the vet’s MacGyver-esque repair thereof ( let’s just say he put the “butt” back in buttons), no cataloging of the rest of the week’s adventures with intramural swapping of head cold and stomach flu germs, no tally on the number of dirty towels generated by cold lambs taking a spa break by the woodstove indoors. None of that.  Just a little gooey lamb photography, and a travelogue of cooking fantasies.  You will note my armchair travel was mainly routed through pudding territory.  What I want, when I feel taxed, is something from a spoon. Not pudding, but visually appealing: this blog (I can tell that both her kitchen and her sketchbooks would be very tidy, which is inspirational), and these cake servers, for the casually elegant, hip and funky, mismatched vintage groovy stylish life I lead in my mind. This king of all rice puddings, which I devoured, despite making it absolutely wrong …

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rosarightagain

pity party close

If, at the end of a long drive home from seeing and tending to your ailing loved one, you embrace the reality that the snot virus you have been dodging all week is your One True Destiny and it is time to go to bed, it follows that a ewe of your immediate acquaintance will get a lamb stuck in her birth canal right as you select the pj’s that best suit your level of self-pity. If you suit up in lamb-catching gear and follow your husband outside, it follows that the patient will be one of the skittish ewes that are hard to convince of your being motivated by her own best interests, and so you will be standing about in the cold, dark night for quite a while, trying to keep very still and feeling your toes freeze. If you finally succeed, despite your mutual lack of interest in doing so, in sticking your gloved hand up her cootchie and easing out the lamb, it follows that she will immediately dash off into …

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tea

big teas

A little housekeeping first: the subscription link over there in the sidebar finally works. Apologies for the long time when it didn’t.  Ice packs for the lump on my head from banging it on the desk trying to fix it gratefully accepted.  I have almost every confidence that if you sign up using the new gizmo, you will actually receive an alert when I post. And believe me, you won’t want to miss even one of the intimidatingly challenging and exotic recipes you have come to expect here. To wit, today’s offering: a cup of tea. “You may have noticed,” said my son this morning, “that I have begun to really like toast.” He comes by it honestly. There is a long double genetic line of inheritance behind this fondness of his, with both parents coming from toast-centric households. It’s only a mild understatement to say that in my opinion, buttered toast and hot tea are two of the cornerstones of a nice life, as well as two of the most direct routes to re-establishing …

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