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| Easy elegance. Coconut ice cream. Berries. Boom. Parfait! |
We are slowly melting here in the usually friendlier, temperate wedge of Northwest Connecticut. This heat wave has not been fun. Yesterday we hit 87º degrees. Inside the barn. In the kitchen (if you can call it that), where I am not cooking. I am painting. Very slowly. And sweating. Profusely. The studio air smelled like a West Hollywood muffler shop (if I was a betting soul I'd wager greenbacks on the landlord lying when he assured us the barn was insulated). Yours truly may be suffering quasi-serious brain damage due to these cranium-baking temperatures. I cannot form a cohesive thought. Neither can my iMac which gets dangerously hot (I am writing this post early, while the room temperature is a balmy 78º).
Obviously I am unable to muster any enthusiasm for cooking.
I've been living on peanut butter toast. And ice cream. Yes, I know. I am a poor, sad, sad role model. What kind of food blogger doesn't rise to the challenge and cheerlead you to whip up kale salads and raw peach smoothies? What kind of food blogger would simply give in to her sticky, damp fatigue and general overall crankiness and not create some inspiring, nutritious, bunny food slaw for you?
This one.
She who is digging into the archives to bring forth a delectable, no-cook recipe she actually DID make last night, tweaking it gently, standing directly in front of her three-speed fan, silver streaked hair pinned wantonly (fashionably!) askew atop her itchy, sweaty head.
Sweet and cold and creamy. Coconut milk ice cream.
It's what's for dinner.
Read more + get the recipe >>
|
| Easy elegance. Coconut ice cream. Berries. Boom. Parfait! |
We are slowly melting here in the usually friendlier, temperate wedge of Northwest Connecticut. This heat wave has not been fun. Yesterday we hit 87º degrees. Inside the barn. In the kitchen (if you can call it that), where I am not cooking. I am painting. Very slowly. And sweating. Profusely. The studio air smelled like a West Hollywood muffler shop (if I was a betting soul I'd wager greenbacks on the landlord lying when he assured us the barn was insulated). Yours truly may be suffering quasi-serious brain damage due to these cranium-baking temperatures. I cannot form a cohesive thought. Neither can my iMac which gets dangerously hot (I am writing this post early, while the room temperature is a balmy 78º).
Obviously I am unable to muster any enthusiasm for cooking.
I've been living on peanut butter toast. And ice cream. Yes, I know. I am a poor, sad, sad role model. What kind of food blogger doesn't rise to the challenge and cheerlead you to whip up kale salads and raw peach smoothies? What kind of food blogger would simply give in to her sticky, damp fatigue and general overall crankiness and not create some inspiring, nutritious, bunny food slaw for you?
This one.
She who is digging into the archives to bring forth a delectable, no-cook recipe she actually DID make last night, tweaking it gently, standing directly in front of her three-speed fan, silver streaked hair pinned wantonly (fashionably!) askew atop her itchy, sweaty head.
Sweet and cold and creamy. Coconut milk ice cream.
It's what's for dinner.
Read more + get the recipe >>
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