Spices can make or break a meal.
Have too many, and your dinner guests will never recognize the flavor of what lies beneath. However, have too little, and chances are your meal won’t live up to its true potential.
As with most things in life, spices should be approached with moderation in mind. Biting into something that has no flavor and bring overwhelmed by seasonings are equally disappointing; but getting spices to perfectly compliment what you’re making — that’s the goal!
The Nature of This Flower Is to Bloom
// by Alice Walker
Rebellious. Living.
Against the Elemental Crush.
A Song of Color
Blooming
For Deserving Eyes.
Blooming Gloriously
For its Self.
Photo | Wikimedia Commons
Last spring, the weather played tricks on our gardens. One week we’d have record high temperatures, which encouraged the flowers to rise up from the ground; the next, a hard frost would strike without warning, forcing the flowers to shrivel and retract their half-bloomed ends.
Some of the flowers did not recover from this stress. The elemental crush defeated them — their colors and true form never to be realized by the outside world.
Just like the flower Alice Walker describes in her poem, each one of us is a living song of color and wonder. But here’s where I digress from Walker: unlike the flowers she speaks of, which bloom gloriously for themselves, I think our lives should flourish as an outpouring of love for others. Positive change takes place when we use our creativity to help others.
For my first recipe blog of 2013, I wanted to start the new year with the last thing I cooked in 2012.
Before I left for a vacation in the Bahamas, I got to make dinner for the Milly family, some very close friends of mine. Between the night’s conversation, our kitchen adventures and the actual meal, it was a night I will never forget.
I will also never forget this Shrimp Bruschetta Salad recipe because it has earned a spot in my list of “favorites” — not only for its bright colors, which bring cheer to the winter gloom, but for its tangy and refreshing taste.
Greetings from the Governor’s Harbor Airport in Eleuthera, Bahamas! For the last week and a half, I have been vacationing here, spending time with loved ones and relaxing in the sun. This is why there have been no blog posts. I wanted to leave a post the first day we arrived on the island, but there was no internet in our house, so I had no way of posting anything that I wrote.
One of the mornings here on the island, I stumbled across a book which inspired me to write today’s post. Aside from journal entries, this is the only thing I wrote during my time in the Bahamas. I hope you enjoy it.
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The sunrises on Eleuthera are absolutely breathtaking! Combined with the pink sand, it’s more than a taste of paradise.
Thin. Curvy. Book smart. Dumb. Loyal. Quiet. Strong. Weak. Short. Rich. Poor. Beautiful. Plain. Athletic. Lazy. Optimistic. Indifferent. Alone. Afraid. Angry. Loving. Kind.
When you look in the mirror, what do you see? A list of “somethings,” like those listed above, or an individual — someone who is uniquely, wonderfully and fearfully made?
Maybe your reflection has become clouded by these “somethings.” And then somehow, over time, maybe these descriptors have become the only thing you see splashed across the mirror.
Maybe there are words you want to change, or words you wish could be erased. For whatever reason, maybe you think that changing those words would uncover what’s been lost beneath the black scribbled haze of words that coat the plexiglass in front of you.
Here’s the thing about mirrors: they are one-sided.
There’s no depth. What you see is what you get, and what you see is all a matter of perspective.
When we strive to be something rather than someone, we risk becoming consumed with the superficial self. Rather than appreciating ourselves for who we really are, we sell ourselves short and settle for only a glimpse, a fragment of what lies within.
For most of my junior year and part of my senior year of high school, insomnia ravaged my sleeping schedule. The majority of nights, I tossed and turned, praying to be able to fall asleep. That prayer could take anywhere from 1 to 3 hours to be answered, depending on how far my anxious mind wandered. It was a painful part of my life, and it’s something I don’t like to think about.
Today, I’ve overcome the demons of my past, but the ghosts of these memories still linger; and they strike when I least expect them to.
After a stressful semester that left little time for relaxation, I came home for Christmas break this week. With no more finals, deadlines, or anything too pressing to worry about, my mind is now free to think about whatever it pleases (even if it doesn’t please me).
I didn’t invite the ghosts of my painful past to return, but for some reason last night, they relentlessly haunted me. Suddenly, I was reminded of all that I tried so hard to turn away from and forget: of the person I used to be. Of those two years in high school, of my summer in Seattle. I shuddered in fear.
You can fall into those same pitfalls and traps again, the ghosts whispered. And then I wondered: What if they’re right?
Call me obsessive, but lately, any chance I have to roast something, I do.
Maybe this is because it’s winter, and standing by a warm oven is like coming across a little piece of heaven, but it could also be because of the simple truth that roasted things just. taste. better.
A few of my favorite roasting recipes: Roasted Chickpeas, Garlic Butter Roasted Mushrooms and Roasted Grape, Goat Cheese and Honey Stuffed Sweet Potatoes. Bonus roasted recipe which I have yet to try, but I’m sure is to die for: Roasted Pineapple with Pistachio Ice Cream.
79.9 percent, the computer screen flashed in front of my face. OK, not horrible, I thought to myself, but for a final exam score, it wasn’t a number I wanted to see.
I’ve never been a good test taker. I would much rather spend hours doing research for an essay than preparing for a slew of multiple choice, fill in the blank and true or false questions. Mostly because I tend to second-guess myself over anything that I’m not at least 100 percent sure about, but also because I enjoy composition-based classes.
I left the testing lab feeling frustrated. Thoughts of what I could have done, maybe what I should have done differently swirled in my head.
There’s a reason why I don’t post many cookie recipes on “Making Life Sweet,” and it’s not because I don’t like cookies. Believe me, aside from ice cream, cookies are one of my favorite things on this planet. I could make, decorate, admire, eat and, of course, share my cookies every day and my heart would be content.
It’s my future dream of owning a bakery that keeps me from posting too many of my cookie recipes.
Cookies have always been a large part of my life. I had the Toll House Chocolate Chip Cookie recipe memorized from a very young age (I used this skill for several of my grade school demonstration speeches). I grew up baking cookies on a daily basis with my mother. Each night we made fresh and warm chocolate chip cookies — something my father still looks forward to almost every night, even though the kids are gone.
I don’t know what it is about cookies, but they are simply delightful. Someday, like mentioned earlier, I plan to open a bakery, where fresh baked cookies and a coffee bar will offer a sweeter, cozy and conversational environment to all who enter.
But enough about me. Let’s get to the reason for today’s post: The 2012 Great Food Blogger Cookie Swap, of which I am a participant, along with 576 other bakers. Together, we raise about $4,400 raised for Cookies for Kids’ Cancer. (For a recipe roundup click here.)
My matches were: Julie from Table for Two, Ashley from Girly Obsessions and Mackenzie from Susie Freaking Homemaker. I sent all three of them a dozen of these cookies.
If I ever doubted my boyfriend Alex’s love for me, which I never have, this weekend would have obliterated any uncertainty.
Friday night, I fell ill to the worse stomach bug I’ve had in my entire life. (I will spare you the not-so-glamorous details.) Amid my tiresome groans and the anxious hours of the night, he stayed by my side. It didn’t matter how horrid I looked, or how loopy or lethargic I became, because in that moment, all that mattered was that I was still conscious — still Lauren.
You know those people whom you can be yourself with, no matter what? People you don’t have to put up a guard with?
