“My dad made the best chili” are fighting words in some circles.
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We had friends over on Saturday for the previously mentioned black rice dish (which is actually from Forever Summer and not Nigella Bites). It was perfect, in taste, in texture, in presentation. I want to run right out and buy some more to see what else we can do with it.
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This weekend our experimenting turns to black rice. It isn’t dyed with squid ink or anything. It’s really that color.
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I was a vegetarian for a long time and even when I wasn’t strictly an herbivore, I didn’t cook meat often at home and then only very specific things.
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My mom has been staying with us a week and I’m certain I have gained a pound or two. Keifel has decided he has to stay married to me now because my cooking will only improve with age.
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I have a serious addiction to scones, in all their permutations (outside of the brickbat leaden ones, of course).
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Forgive me, O Great Chef in the Sky, for I have sinned. It has been 15 days since my last confession.
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I would love to write about this wondrous dinner involving sauces and terrines and goddess knows what all that I prepared for our first real meal in our new home.
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