All posts filed under: garlic

hashing through the weeds/nettles and potatoes from A Raisin & A Porpoise

nettled

Years ago, two friends started a debate about how many dollar bills could be stuffed into a soft-sided suitcase (it was a Le Sportsac, if you must know–it was the 80’s, and we can only apologize for the time in our history when we referred to suitcases by their brand name).  “Infinite!” said one of them.  “Finite!” said the other. About three months ago, my friend Suzi asked me to participate in a kind of blogger’s chain letter, a mutually supportive exercise in talking about writing and raising awareness of each other’s work.  It was just the sort of thing I ought to be saying ‘YES!’ to, in order to be More Committed To Writing and Building My Readership.  And it was just the sort of thing I ought to say ‘no‘ to, in order to be actually more committed to actual writing, and because if one more skinny little figment of a commitment gets stuffed into the decidedly soft-sided suitcase of my mind, the seams surely will not hold. It should come as no …

red rice with smoked cheddar and squash

meanwhile

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 …

chickpea salad with zatar

back in the salad again

I don’t have anything adorable to say about this salad, aside from the fact that (provided all ingredients are in the same building as you are) you can go from the 6pm announcement “Mama, I know I told you the potluck started at 6:30 but I just checked and she meant to say come around 4” to “Everybody in the car!” in about 15 minutes.  If you have only half the ingredients, provided they are the right half, you can cut your time down considerably and still have a tasty offering for the communal table, if not a good photograph of the salad itself.  It was actually quite a purty salad, though you would not necessarily know that from mug shot above. Continuing last week’s theme of why it is good to live near a Middle Eastern market, or to stock up in one when the chance presents itself, here is a little love poem for the spice mix known as zatar.  Also known as za’atar, zahtar, and zahatar.  To compound the confusion, however you …