My favorite casserole is green bean and mushroom. As a true Southerner, I understand the sacred role of casseroles in our culture. They’re more than just food – they’re vessels of comfort, marking life’s most significant moments. From welcoming new babies to saying goodbye at post-funeral gatherings, casseroles are our culinary storytellers.
I fell in love with Connecticut maple syrup at my cousin’s house in Litchfield. As I walked through the conifers and sugar maples peppering their acreage near the Berkshires, a few maple taps caught my eye.
Their neighbors at Brookside Farm had tapped a few of their trees to make maple syrup. After I sampled their maple syrup, the Log Cabin maple syrup on the grocery store shelves became an afterthought.
Few foods find themselves intertwined with the highs and lows of life. Chicken noodle soup is reserved for an illness. Chocolate cake is reserved for a promotion at work. Pumpkin bread fills all the in-betweens. Eating a slice of pumpkin bread gives me the ultimate food warm and fuzzies.
As the leaves turn from yellow to brown, the smell of homemade apple pie fills permeates my house. I love opening the door to the smell of butter, cinnamon, apple, and sugar. Apple pie lends a level of nostalgia to the holidays that makes the endeared Thanksgiving pumpkin pie jealous. I’ve heard what sound like fairy tales of my grandmother Ruth’s fried apple pies and her homemade apple pies. I never got to taste these fabled treats, but my mother has kept their memories alive. Unfortunately, she does not have the recipes to pass along – since no one expected her to die so young. The dollops of butter carefully placed on the top of this pie are an ode to the memory of my grandmother Ruth. According to my mother, I still haven’t perfected the amount of cinnamon.
A picture is worth a thousand words, or 774 to be exact, generated by the discovery of a cat wandering through the corner of a photo I accidentally took when learning how to use my tripod. After Thanksgiving 2021, I remember fiddling around with my new tripod and struggling with the 90-degree arm. I must have been testing the setup and lighting when I snapped this shot. After taking hundreds of photos while preparing a recipe, I troll through the kaleidoscope of images in Lightroom. I delete the pictures that are out of focus, to dark, or feature my son’s latest lego construction project. How this photo was not deleted, I do not know. But now that our beloved Bella has crossed the rainbow bridge, this photo has taken on new meaning.
While this pasta salad has evolved over the years, it started as a means of using up leftover ingredients from a charcuterie plate. If I had to request a last meal, it would be a charcuterie plate with a bottle of Napa Cabernet. I just love a meat and cheese plate for dinner. It allows me to concoct several different permutations of meat, cheese, jam, honey, nuts, and fruit all in the same meal. The specialty crackers take it to the next level – with the charcoal, rosemary, and nut-laden crackers being among my favorites.
My husband is always asking for a healthy, broth-forward soup. My reply is this squash, chicken, and cannellini bean soup. Since many of my recipes begin with a game of “what can I make with my CSA box this week,” it should come as no surprise that this soup evolved from a Two Dog Farms CSA box.
Lucky for me, our summer vacation to visit my Aunt and Uncle in North Truro coincided with blueberry season. I was delighted to go wild blueberry picking near the dunes with their friend, Ira. We let some air out of the tires, and Ira drove us to his secret location. We were quickly enveloped in curtains of blueberry bushes the size of redwood trees. I entered “the zone” and began to pluck the large, vibrant berries from the bushes with methodical precision. Too much pressure and you could rupture the berry in your fingers. It was an artful dance to procure the ripest blueberries for pancakes and muffins. At the end of the morning, my stomach was almost as full of berries as my bucket.
