Somehow, today marks two years that I’ve been blogging here with all of you (!!), and I’m feeling rather romantic about a number of things. About the blog, yes. And also: every stitch of clothing in the latest Anthro catalogue. This sofa.
Chef Sean Brock.
Be still my beating heart, this is a crush I won’t be shaking any time soon.
I had the chance to dine at the original Husk restaurant in Charleston, South Carolina when my mom and I embarked on our unforgettable Southern Eats birthday road trip this time last year. We arrived for lunch just as the restaurant opened, my pulse as tickled with anticipation as my skin was tacky with the coastal Carolina humidity. The burger lived up the hype. The impossibly creamy grits a whimsical celebration of a cuisine that, as Sean insists in his season of The Mind of a Chef, really is rooted to the soil of the South and the fruits, veggies and heirloom grains it pushes forth. Of course there’s pig, and fried chicken, white gravies — all of which is slap yo’ momma good (I refrained, as she was to be my travel companion for a good week or more). But it’s so much more seasonal in story than my Calicentric self allowed me to imagine. And Sean talks about it with an infectious joy that my Samsung flatscreen is powerless to contain. That has found me stupidly grinning to the point of cheek strain, fists curled into balls, on the literal edge of my seat, on more than one occasion over the past couple of weeks.
Netflix, you matchmaker.
With Chef Sean Brock, I maintain, I am irrevocably smitten.
Or rather the wannabe chef within me, I suppose. The green-thumbed heroine of farm to fork persuasion that wields a paring knife as one might wield poetry, skillfully exposing one sun-ripened verse at a time.
She and Sean are a match made in heaven.
I can only try my best.
Hey guys, and welcome to Day Two of Street Corn Two Ways. It’s a pretty efficient series. Yesterday, we started things off with this classic Mexican Street Corn thingy and today we’re wrappin’ it on up with an islandy (I guess? For lack of better descriptor?) spin that’s sweet and salty and soy-y and scallion-y and best of all bests — SPAMMY.
SPAM is, no joke, one of my most favorite food groups ever. Like, remember that time I was like, “out with factory farmed meat!”
Um, canni tell you a secret?
I never ditched the SPAM.
(Shhhhhhhhhh, fancy people think this blog is clean and legit and whole foodsie and stuff.)
Ok guys. Here it is: the post (or rather, posts) that’s officially gonna take your “waaaaaah it’s already August, Poopiecakes McBacktoschool” and turn it into “it’s peak sweet corn season beeeyahs, mah summer’s juuuuuuust getting started!!”
Because a summer without corn is just pool hair and ReddiWip.
Ear cuffs and Dippin’ Dots. Rollerblades and boy bands.
Oh, sorry, thought we were listing our fave childhood shit.
Are you still there?
The shameful thing is that corn actually isn’t all that commonplace in our house, even when it’s at the peak of candy-sweet, 10-for-a-dolla awesomeness. The simplest explanation would be that Chris is so neutral on corn that it breaks my heart a little each time he fails to give it even a passing glance. But really, it’s because corn in our house turns into, without fail, all the corn in my belly. Ever. Like six ears in one sitting and then it’s at least half an hour of “baaaaaaaaaaabe whydyoulemmeeatsomuch cooooooooooooooooooorn.” And then some corny bathroom comment, because together Chris and I have a combined age of, like, 11.
This season, though, I was lucky enough to find corn in our crisper more than once, and after seeing vendor upon vendor packing sweetly charred kernals of mayo-draped corn into tiny plastic cups along the Malecon, I kinda had to follow suit.
Remember that time it was 1:30 in the morning and your #SoLetsPigOut Day 3 joint post with Gina was supposed to go live in 6 hours? But then you spent a good 40 minutes googling The Bachelorette spoilers? And eating too many handfuls of Chicago mix popcorn? But really you just picked out all the caramel ones?
Hello. Welcome to my now.
We should totally be talking about salad.
When Gina and I were brainstorming the menu for #SoLetsPigOut, she was stuck in the midst of some Whole 30 BS and I was in the process of shoving circus animal cookies in my face. So when it came time to choose a main course of sorts, naturally we both honed right in on salad. Her because, um, grass and twigs and whole stuff. And me because salad later = more cookies now, and that’s the kinda math I can get behind. I mean, it’s right up there with
you! + me! = us!
To the three people that got that, we’re officially BFFs. Let’s braid hair and compare retainers. Mines blue with glitter! Squeal!
Game of Thrones warned me: Winter is here! Really! I mean, I’ve been in my CaliBubble for a while, but would you believe the rest of the country is not suffering from a record-breaking drought? If you saw the gigantor snowflakes bombing the asphalt outside my pal’s window right now, there’d be no question. It’s … Continue reading
It’s been a big week, I’ll have you know. This Sunday, I ran my first half-marathon — the US Half in gorgeous SF. Then proceeded to catch me a nasty head cold — again. And today, I heard my first Christmas song. Mariah Carey, Christmas (Baby Please Come Home), if you’re curious. And yes, there … Continue reading
It’s a big day here at the Pig & Quill. And not just because October walloped my unsuspecting self like the Kraken taking down a ship adrift. Ok, well that’s part of it. Because wasn’t it June, like, 48 hours ago? NOPE. Try again. It wasn’t even June 48 days ago. Man, feeling like a sucka…sucks. … Continue reading