Eggs in tomato sauce (Shakshouka)

I come from a family of “food-hoarders.”  You can’t blame them.  For the generation that endured the Great Depression, food stockpiles were a necessity… and the generation after simply learned from their parents.  But I’ve found that when food is hoarded, food is wasted.  So, as to not fall into the same pattern, and to be sure nothing goes to waste, I’ve set a few rules for myself: 1.) do not buy something until it’s actually needed. Continue reading “Eggs in tomato sauce (Shakshouka)”

Yogurt Pancakes

We have our milk delivered from a local dairy – one gallon every Wednesday morning.  It’s just a little touch of nostalgia that makes my kitschy housewife alter-ego so very happy.  I love getting up in the morning, in my robe and slippers, and opening the milk box on the front porch to find that last week’s old, empty jar has been replaced with a new one.   It reminds me of simpler times, of days when the milk delivery was possibly the highlight of the week.  (At least in my case I would have been!)  Maybe you had used the last bit of milk a few days earlier and were craving pudding or pancakes but had to make do with whatever you had until the milkman came around again.  People were certainly more creative in the kitchen back before you could type the words “pancakes without milk” into Google.  “Necessity is the mother of invention,” or so they say. Continue reading “Yogurt Pancakes”

Brown Butter Apple Crêpes

If I threw a dinner party and invited all the seasons as guests, Spring would arrive late, flutter between the other guests like a social butterfly, disappear here and there, then run back out to her car to reapply her make up, leaving just as quickly as she’d come.  Summer would sprawl out on the couch and stretch his long legs across the coffee table with his feet in the air.  He’d very likely spill a glass or two of Rosé on the new rug, then apologize loudly, while dabbing it up with the cuff of his shirt.  Winter, no doubt, would over-stay his welcome, howling with laughter long into the night.  I would refill his mug with hot mulled wine over and over until his cheeks were rosy and he was far too drunk to make it home, so he’d stay even longer in the guest bedroom until morning when I’d serve him a hearty breakfast and send him on his way.   Autumn, however, would arrive Continue reading “Brown Butter Apple Crêpes”