It’s funny how many kinds of holiday food I loved in my childhood haven’t made it to the table in the present. I know why – my children didn’t like the same things, so I didn’t fix them. I long for mincemeat pit and cinnamon apples, pea salad and stuffed celery. The one thing we can all agree on, ripe olives, disappear so fast you’d think they were zapped by a ray gun. Food is part of the holiday experience, but having family around is more important to me.
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I don’t know how that particular recipe for mashed potatoes became the centerpiece of holiday meals. It’s been that way for several years. Everyone loves those potatoes and looks forward to them more than the pie or any other goodies at holidays. I could say it is the cream cheese and sour cream that get beaten into the mix, but it’s more than that. It’s about something special just for family. The . . .
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It was 60 years old, that cookbook. You know, the one with the red checkered cover like a tablecloth. The pages were falling out of the binder. Some pages were greasy with use, others were untouched. I found what I wanted in the section on pancakes and waffles. Yes, exactly what I remembered – mama’s pancakes. I pulled a big bowl . . .
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There are no regional foods anymore. Everything is everywhere. You find biscuits and gravy in the motel breakfast room in the far Northwest. You find Vietnamese restaurants on every corner in central New Mexico. Food is no longer seasonal, either. Everything is available all the time. The world is too much with us.
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Snow closed the road. The radio said there were people working to clear it but we might be sitting by the side of the highway for quite a while. My spouse smiled at the kids. “At least we won’t get scurvy. We have that bag of oranges in the trunk. And a carton of strawberries!”
“And blankets,” I added.
Their only concern was that they couldn’t get a signal on their phones.
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How did one of the best foods ever invented by Mother Nature come to signify mental illness? I say we reclaim the word and apply it to nutrition and heart health. Nuts are too important to be associated with an idiot like the current nut at the head of the government.
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I knew why she insisted on a midday Chardonnay. She was bored. Her life bored her. There was nothing to do alone in her house. If she had a tipple at lunch she would nap after. Take up a few hours. Break up the empty day. Then one day . . .
Please use the open space below to share your first 50 words on the topic “midday Chardonnay.” Thanks to Lucky Life for today’s prompt.
It was that time of year. Time to make the switch from hot coffee to iced coffee in the mornings. Iced coffee was cold brewed overnight and ready immediately on waking in the morning. An advantage, you see. Instant caffeine. Hot coffee involved waiting for water to heat, waiting for the coffee to brew in the little french press. Agony, you see. Yes, iced coffee time was a welcome time of year.
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I watched and watered,
Watched and watered.
Turned leaves and looked
At blooms and tiny white buds.
The plants were tended with
Love and anticipation.
Finally, in late spring,
When the rains had come
And the sun shone bright,
The plants gave back a reward
Ripe and red and sweet.
Worth the wait. Worth the wait.
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Many mornings I conduct science experiments to find the perfect number of mugs of coffee. That is, the number of mugs I can drink before my stomach starts to hurt.
If I make one batch of java in my wonderful little French press, I’m only going to get two mugs of coffee that day. No pain. But what if I drink more? Is three the pain threshold? Or is it four? Bring me another refill, waitress, I’m doing research for science.
Please use the open space below to share your first 50 words on the topic “the perfect number.”