All posts filed under: dip

Dill pesto from A Raisin & A Porpoise

frond feelings

I don’t know what all of you have gotten done the last few weeks, but the dill’s sure been busy.  It has self-seeded in a good portion of my parents’ garden, and it’s about as high as an elephant’s eye, and I picked a whole big lot of it, knowing full well I had nothing to mince it up into (it’s mad tasty added in copious amounts to spinach, but I had no spinach). I just got kind of mesmerized by its abundance, and the waxy feel of the leaves and the bracing aroma as I picked.  Then all of a sudden I had a huge handful of dill, whose abundance I did not want to waste. Dill pesto!  There’s an idea.  Fearing it would be too aggressively dilly on its own, I threw some lettuce in to mellow things out. In a matter of moments, I had some glorious green goo. There are lots of things this would be good with, and for, and on. I imagined styling it up for you on a …

red rice with smoked cheddar and squash


By way of explanation as to where in the sam hill I have been, I could offer this compelling photograph and say no more: “Is that,” you may be wondering to yourself, “a timely reminder to back up all my files, in the form of a person with a stethoscope trying to detect any faint sign of life within the innards of the Porpoiseful laptop?”  Why, yes it is.  You can’t quite tell from the picture, but he is about to inform me that there are, in fact, absolutely no detectable signs of life whatsoever.  He is about to say, in effect, “Go forth, oh ye who cannot set a good example, and serve YET AGAIN as the horrible warning that will scare everyone straight.” So that had a lot to do with keeping mum.  Numerous other factors contrived to keep me occupied, but that was the real immovable object.  Now I write you from my precarious perch on the slippery uphill part of the learning curve of a new computer. Not complaining. Another complication …


better red

We live in a little town that covers 49 square miles and is year-round home to less than four thousand people (summer is another story), in a county full of similar municipalities.  On Memorial Day, each town hosts its own parade, and the fire and police departments dash from one to the other, now in the parade, now managing traffic for a neighbor town so their officials can muster and march.  In our town the bands and scout troops and oldest living veterans all process to a spot on the town green where memorial trees have been planted for fallen townsfolk.  The Schenob Brook babbles quietly behind the little park, perhaps ten feet wide at that point in its course toward the river and beyond.  After the speeches and salutes, a wreath is set into this quiet stream of water by the Naval representative. Politics, though on display in the form of elected officials and flags and other trappings of organized government, fall away. Attending the parade and standing by my dad, who was in …