The bright burgundy hue. The gelatinous cylindrical form. The sexy little can indents.
You know what Thanksgiving treat I speak of… The ever-popular Ocean-Spray cranberry “sauce.”
I believe strongly, that this belongs on every Turkey Day table – but that doesn’t mean there isn’t space for an alternative – to play along side.
A grown-up version perhaps. Like say, with tequila and jalapenos!
Confession – I curse, like a sailor in fact. I know it’s not ladylike. I know it’s not classy. It is in no way how my parents raised me. I know that should I ever implement a curse cup into my life, some lucky local charity would feel as though they hit the lottery.
This undesirable character flaw rears its ugly head at certain times more than others, as you might suspect. Case in point, making this soup.
Cutting and peeling a pumpkin. Seemed pretty straight forward, at least in my mind. It wasn’t. Maybe there’s a strategy I don’t know about, a trick, a tool, a special Halloween spell to cast so that the skin magically falls off, I don’t know. I do know that I cut myself, swore, and generally had a difficult time.
When life hands you tomatoes, make fresh tomato juice, and add vodka – or something like that.
Fresh. Vegan. Healthy. Low Carb. I know these aren’t usually words you see in my posts, but I’m trying friends. I’m trying.
As with many a subtle seductress, I disregarded the need for proper precautions, those that might have prevented the affects of a potential sting, and I went for it. They lured me in – sitting in the comfort of their fuzzy green box, with their shiny green exterior and their plump, local, freshness. I took the bait.
Grill them, I thought. Stuff them to the brim with goat cheese and pineapples, I thought. Drizzle lime juice over them, I thought.
So I chopped. I de-seeded. I de-ribbed. And then I cried.
It’s here, it’s here, it’s finally here! My absolute favorite time of year for cooking. BBQs, picnics, cook-outs, grilling, fresh produce everywhere, sun, fun, beer, entertaining, ahhhh – what could be better?
Depending on your team of choice, each year holds something different for you. For us sad Browns fans,
all most years we chalk up to “rebuilding.” For other teams, that Lombardi Trophy is so close, yet so far away. Others plain suck, but look forward to that nice draft pick. Others feel like sting of riding that middle .500. And others, believe it or not, just win!
This year, and this team of Touchdown Thursdays, we’re going all the way. No mediocrity. No buffalo chicken dip. No football decorated cupcakes. This is “put on your big girl panties, and DIG. IN. food.”
Enough with the pep talk, on to the hot deliciousness.
The Fantasy line-up is set. The jersey perfectly rumpled. The beer cold. The chips and dip aplenty. Dish with clear line of sight of the southern sky – for maximum Sunday ticket reception.
It’s here dear friends. The day of days… NFL FOOTBALL!!!
Hold on to your knickers kids… this ain’t your Grammy’s cornbread. This is a knock-your-socks off, set-fire-to-those-taste-buds, reach-for-an-ice-cold-beer, cornbread. There’s something so simplistic and divine about a hot piece of cornbread slathered with honey and butter, but simplistic ain’t my thang. Enter jalapeños, Habanero cheese, beer, and a whole lot of other goodness.
“No time! No time! There’s never enough time!” I don’t enter into caffeine pill induced freak outs, but I do wish for more time when I look at the stacks of food magazines and books that clutter my floor. My list of things to make and bake grows longer by the day, and there’s never enough time to test and post. Someone find me a longer day, please.
Case in point, this showed up in the December 2010 issue of Bon Appetit, and I’ve been dying to make it ever since. A year and a half later, here she is – wow, look at that turn around time.