Sometimes when I am contemplating a new post I contemplate that it should illustrate me as an intelligent, well-adapted, responsible human being/adult. A person who listens to NPR and classical music. An adult who always pays her bills on time or even early. That is when you get a post such as Ketchup to Watermelon Leftovers.
Other times, I contemplate this person I am and feel I should be entirely truthful and a little less pretentious. Instead I should write a post about how, as an adult, I almost got stuck in a tree. Which would quickly turn into a a post about how I once got stuck in a tree, but for less than a minute before I figured out how to get out with only minimal scrapes. That is when you get a post such as Like a Moth to the Flambé.
Then I start to feel like a post should represent a well-rounded me. A person who is neither too much the first paragraph, nor too much the second. That is when you get a post like Maybe it’s your birthday…tart. This post acknowledges that the relaxed, ahead of schedule me is not the always me.
However, if I am to be detrimentally honest, I would acknowledge that none of these posts always represent me. Perhaps they represent the personality(ies) of me. But do they represent the cook of me? No.
Do I often eat a bizarre recipe of ingredients based on life and time? Yes. Most of the time the posts that are most representative of daily me is something more like The Recipe: Spinach and potato soft tacos with mango salsa.
This is one of those posts.
I like baking bread. So one day I baked a large loaf and contemplated a post about this loaf. It was based on Italian Whole Wheat Walnut Raisin Bread from Beth Hensperger’s Bread for All Seasons except without raisins and with a mixture of walnuts, sunflower seeds and flax because I had all those in my pantry.
This bread was eaten open sandwich style with avocado spread and sharp white cheddar cheese, spread with buckwheat honey and butter, alongside salad with dried cranberries and apples, alongside salad with tangerines and almonds, and as peanut butter and jelly. Four days later the remainder of this loaf was getting a little stale which makes it perfect for french toast. I made it savory instead of sweet and melted cheddar cheese on the top. This savory french toast was eaten with sliced avocado and alongside marsala sauteed carrots. I then looked at the last piece of cheesy french toast and thought croutons.
I looked into my fridge and put together a salad of mixed greens, kalamata olives, bleu cheese, and homemade dijon and lemon vinaigrette (which is sometimes called french vinaigrette and even though I first ate it in France, the name always seems wrong).
And that was my dinner.