In my old apartment, I was in the unfortunate position of not having regular access to an oven. I had, instead, a microwave and what could, if squinting was involved, be called a stove. On this I mostly made various versions of pasta dishes. Very exciting, I know. Since moving, though, all I do is cook.
Now, I’ve been a vegetarian for around five years now and in that time still have a laughably small amount of recipes that I know by heart. My mother raised me to cook without measurements, she never cared for instructions, but I have a certain fascination for recipes. These are some that I would like to try.
We have these beautiful Key Lime White Chocolate Cookies made by the talented Delicious by Dre. They look able to attain that gorgeous blend between sweet and sour that we sometimes want in a desert.
Then we have the Lemon Gremolata Pizza with Cauliflower Crust. This is one of the reasons it often surprises me not more people eat vegetarian food. Oh My Veggies just makes it look so good.
Lastly we have this wrap from A Beautiful Mess. It is a guilty pleasure food without most of the guilty. I can’t wait to try any one of these.
Do you have any recipes you think I would like?
Adventure does not always necessitate leaving home. Sometimes finding magic means discovering you had nutella left in your kitchen or finding lost coins in old winter coats. Today, magic was spelled W-A-F-F-L-E-S. Lingering in the luxury of waking up slowly I looked out of my window and the clouds dancing across the sky reminded me of whipped cream somehow. That, or maybe I was simply reminded that I had picked up the item up during the week as a just-in-case with no real goal in mind.
I dug out my waffle iron, one I bought on sale and that has mostly been used to grill sandwiches so far. I was curious to see how well it would perform its intended job. Well, waffle iron…
I think the iron and I might need to spend some more quality time together before a final verdict is made though. With music on shuffle the iron and I struggled along and with flour, butter and whipped cream finally produced around seven perfectly decent waffles. Sitting down to eat, I looked at the tower in front of me and thought nervously that I hope I don’t die from this. You know, death is a definite side-effect of bad food. Scientifically proven and everything. I’m not being dramatic at all.
This little piece of every day magic didn’t seem to bring death in its wake though and I survived the first bite. And the second. Crossing my fingers that I will survive all the rest to. Starting the week with a little love from food, imperfect and messy like every relationship, allowed this slow morning to stretch the minutes. It tastes a little like childhood and first tries and sweetness.
The crown on the head of morning as we run around, hoping not to have left anything behind.