https://youtube.com/watch?v=https://www.youtube-nocookie.com/embed/DNZGlcfXM14

I brought 16 balls of pizza dough, a big jar of my homemade New York-style sauce, and a jar of my spicy caramelized onion and hot cherry pepper mix to a friend’s house Sunday afternoon. Pizza for 16 was quite a project. I slid pizza on and off of the hot stone for about two and a half hours, red-faced, hair piled high on my head and sweat trickling behind my apron. Lovely image, I know. I sipped on a glass of old vine Zin and chatted with lady friends while working. Children popped in and out of the sweltering kitchen to place their pizza orders and check on status. My pizza was last to come out of the oven. It was delish, if I may say so myself.

I stand on the deck of the boat, brow furrowed against whipping hair, wind lashing my back. I watch my heart trampoline hard on the wake, tethered to me with the thinnest rope. He swings wide, an inked stylus recording a round swell of current, then jerks left and right, scratching thick and black the sharp spikes of my fear. A final jolt, and he slips under the dark water. ...

I turned the surprise cucumbers into sweet and spicy pickles this weekend. Let me just say, pickling is far easier than fermenting. No vegetal whey taste, no wondering about exactly what kind of microbe I am growing, and the cukes were ready to eat two hours after hitting the vinegar and spice. They are delicious. I am eating them with everything, at every meal, and dreaming about making my next batch as soon as we can locate more vegetables in the jungle out back.

When it’s twelve degrees outside on New Year’s Day, it’s important to stay near the fire, have a guitar dance party, and drink eat leftovers for dinner.

Happy Friday. xxoo

I saw a flash of yellow behind big green leaves and called to my kids to come see what I’d found. They dashed around our tiny backyard and squeaked with excitement. We had no idea these Boothby’s Blonde cukes were even growing deep in our jungle. Now to find the best sweet pickle recipe…

Portland in July was a temperate, low humidity heaven on earth. Bungalows, restaurants, cape cods, bars, and flower shops are mixed together and spread out across the straight line of Southeast Division Street. I sat at a tiny outdoor table at The Woodsman Tavern, sipped a coa de jima and thought if I lived in that little house across the street, this would be my regular haunt.