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| Gluten-free fried zucchini chips with vegan dipping sauce. |
The Dog Days of Summer are upon us. Gardens are exploding. Vegetables are shiny fresh and happy. From A to Z, produce is queen. 'Tis the season of abundance. You know where I'm going with this, right? Need I say more, Dearest Reader? Do I really have to wax poetic and effusive about the humble cucurbita pepo known as zucchini? Do you crave another verbal celebration of le fabuleux courgette?
Perhaps I should invent a tale about some beatific Italian grandmother and what she used to do with weathered buckets of fresh-picked zucchina, transforming the green torpedoes (still cozy-warm from the sun) into melt-in-your-mouth garlic laced bliss. I could go all James Frey on ya and pretend I had a childhood that included actual, fresh picked produce (in full disclosure, there were potatoes) and not canned corn and fried bologna.
Because I didn't have an Italian grandmother.
Or a French grandmother.
The one I had on hand was Polish. And not only did she not grow vegetables, Darling, I sincerely wonder if she ever ate a vegetable in her long and prickly life of nine decades- beyond said canned corn and the occasional boiled potato. Instant Sanka, Russel Stover Assorted Creams, and Lucky Strikes were her three favored food groups. So I often find it ironic that I blog recipes and take pictures of food.
Though Dr. Freud, perhaps, would not exactly be surprised.
I've been reading the book Women, Food and God by Geneen Roth. It is a thought provoking read, and I highly recommend it. Though it is not for the faint of heart. There's stuff in there we don't necessarily want to hear, clinging as we do, to our assumptions.
Read more + get the recipe >>
|
| Gluten-free fried zucchini chips with vegan dipping sauce. |
The Dog Days of Summer are upon us. Gardens are exploding. Vegetables are shiny fresh and happy. From A to Z, produce is queen. 'Tis the season of abundance. You know where I'm going with this, right? Need I say more, Dearest Reader? Do I really have to wax poetic and effusive about the humble cucurbita pepo known as zucchini? Do you crave another verbal celebration of le fabuleux courgette?
Perhaps I should invent a tale about some beatific Italian grandmother and what she used to do with weathered buckets of fresh-picked zucchina, transforming the green torpedoes (still cozy-warm from the sun) into melt-in-your-mouth garlic laced bliss. I could go all James Frey on ya and pretend I had a childhood that included actual, fresh picked produce (in full disclosure, there were potatoes) and not canned corn and fried bologna.
Because I didn't have an Italian grandmother.
Or a French grandmother.
The one I had on hand was Polish. And not only did she not grow vegetables, Darling, I sincerely wonder if she ever ate a vegetable in her long and prickly life of nine decades- beyond said canned corn and the occasional boiled potato. Instant Sanka, Russel Stover Assorted Creams, and Lucky Strikes were her three favored food groups. So I often find it ironic that I blog recipes and take pictures of food.
Though Dr. Freud, perhaps, would not exactly be surprised.
I've been reading the book Women, Food and God by Geneen Roth. It is a thought provoking read, and I highly recommend it. Though it is not for the faint of heart. There's stuff in there we don't necessarily want to hear, clinging as we do, to our assumptions.
Read more + get the recipe >>
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