All posts filed under: what you can and cannot predict

cookie or good for you? caramelized puffed millet go-bars from A Raisin & A Porpoise

nut job

I set out to make the weekly snacking bar, my usual Sunday activity, but my mind wandered as I both eyeballed the proportions and switched up the ingredients.  They looked really mushy even after they were baked, so I taught them a lesson or two by baking them some more, until they really quit squealing–almost burned them, in fact, like the chef in the restaurant when you say your meat is a little underdone.  I was reasonably sure I had an epic fail on my hands. My daughter ate three, pretty comfortably. What is this? asked her friend, when I handed her two of them. I’m not sure, I said. What were those? asked the friend’s mom a few minutes later. They’re gone? I asked.  I think they are sort of like those lunchbox bars I make, I said.  I am going to make more, and I’ll give you some. This is not a bar, said my friend Julie.  This is a cookie. What’s in it? Oats, millet, nuts, coconut sugar…I said. Sweet!  See?  Ha! …

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chick lit

here comes trouble We have had two broody hens this spring, meaning two hens who woke up one morning in a mood that cannot be intentionally stimulated by any external factor that I am aware of, a mood that leads a girl to pluck all the feathers off her chest and sit motionless on a pile of eggs (or apples, or stones, or lightbulbs–anything lumpy will do when the spirit takes them) for three weeks.  Usually she does not know why she wants to or, as we have seen here on the farm, what it will lead to.  Hens of all temperaments, even those without a shred of maternal instinct, will still set, and then may try to kill the babies as they hatch, so shocked are they to find what comes of three weeks of sitting still and being hungry.  All that, for this? I will spare you the details.  (Those of you who have been reading long enough to endure my egg rants will be grateful).  Trust me that we have reason to …

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