I have two favorite games in the kitchen. The first one: Dishwasher Tetris. He doesn’t realize we’re competing, but I always beat him. I can rearrange that appliance to fit every last dirty dish, even dishes Kev swears will never fit. And the second game: Fridge Foraging. (It’s important to note, these might be the only two games in life that I have the upper hand on Kev.) Read more
It’s pronounced Po-sol-eh, though Kev leaves off the “eh” for reasons unknown. It comes in red, white, or green. I had my first bowl a couple years ago at Chipotle, so the authenticity may be questionable. This soup, spotted with hominy, is commonly served in Mexico as a celebratory dish. And since the next two months are filled with celebrations (especially in the red, white, and green color palette), I thought I’d shake up the traditional celebratory fare at this house. Because we’re staying home for the holidays. And that might be the bigger shakeup. Read more
I know, I know. I keep writing about it—the surprise factor of dinner. Or maybe I keep talking about it every other post on Instagram. We’re getting to that point in our relationship when I can’t remember what I’ve told you. But every day come 5, I’m shocked that it’s dinner time. Again. Didn’t I just finish cleaning last night’s dishes? I’ve tried meal planning, but since it’s not a permanent fixture in my calendar, it only takes a week or two to lose steam. And thinking about the whole week in advance gives me hives. I’m a one-day-at-a-time girl, which works quite well until 5:00 pm. Read more
The best things in life are usually accidents first. Like the time I went out for arepas, and they gave me aioli instead of chimichurri for dunking my yucca fries. “No worries,” I said as they brought out the other. And because the aioli was still on my plate, I decided to take the fries in a dip of each. That’s when I landed on the best sauce of my life—Chimichurri Aioli. Herby, zesty, tangy, creamy. All the right things in one vessel instead of two. Read more
I will always be amazed by the power of food. The power to nourish. The power to produce joy and sometimes tears. The power to prompt someone to start a blog, to write recipes, and to learn how to use a camera. The power to make you hangry. The power to make you hungry. The power to make you thrive. The power to divide. The power to bring together. The power to build a raised bed. The power to tell a thousand different stories. Read more
We’re not vegetarians, though Hallie would tell you otherwise. But most days, especially during the hurried weekday dinner hustle, we eat a vegetarian diet, leaning on quick-cooking pantry staples to pull off dinner. I had to figure out a meatless swap for our favorite crunchy, meaty tacos in order to keep it in the regular dinner rotation. With the help of quinoa, black beans, and a little ketchup (just trust me), I give you vegetarian taco “meat.” Read more
Come the weekend, we’re communal food people. I’ve talked about this same topic over these fajitas and this podcast recently. I like food speckled across the table as the centerpiece, mostly because it seems fitting. The table is our meeting place, our sustenance. I like the way passing bowls full of food gently nudges the start of a conversation. Can you pass the rice? And the beans?
We are settled! In a house that I plan to breathe my last breath in. Just like the last day of high school, college, etc, I thought this day would never come. In the summer of 2008, Kev started graduate school. I started this blog soon thereafter. We lived 4 semi-settled years in Chicago, knowing we’d most likely move come internship time. And that we did. In 2012, we hauled our belongings to the east coast where we spent two years completing his internship and post-doctoral work. We loved our time in Connecticut, but it didn’t quite feel like home. In 2014, we trekked back to the midwest with a cute 9-month in tow and plans to build a house in Minneapolis. We parked ourselves in a tiny apartment just outside the Twin Cities and began the never-ending process of building a house. Like all things, it came to an end. And here we are! Settled, minus all the boxes in the basement and frames lining the walls, with a margarita in hand. Well, one of us is. Read more