Are you a casserole person?
I can’t say that I identify as one. We weren’t really a casserole family, so to speak – I’ve never had anything against them, but they just didn’t serve as a big part of my eating experience growing up. When I think of enormous one-dish meals, I think of lasagna and mac and cheese (both of which my mom can seriously make the heck out of).
Here’s what happened: I was sick, and at the grocery store, and I wanted to buy a rotisserie chicken to make homemade chicken stock. But I also realized that in order to get to the chicken carcass (sorry), I would first need to pull off all the chicken and do something with it. I am dying of suspense.
Oh, my goodness.
First of all, these were supposed to be spring rolls, but SOMEBODY (the grocery store) only had the smallest size of wonton skin. Well. I’m personally not one to let THE MAN (the grocery store) keep me down, so wontons it was.
(To be clear, I honestly still thought that they were going to be spring rolls when I went to roll the first one. And…you can see how they turned out. Wonton city, population ALL OF THOSE UP THERE IN THAT PICTURE.) Gimme gimme gimme!
Holy moooooooly. Chiang Mai. I freaking love this place. Excuse me for what is essentially about to be a photo essay of sorts, but I kind of can’t help myself.
The temples! Maybe I AM a Temple Person.
We saw so much old stuff.
And ate, like, SO much food. How much?
[EDITOR’S NOTE: This post is terribly written and horribly rambly. I’m sorry. I really am.]
[SECOND EDITOR’S NOTE: The title of this post is actually a reference to a song, and NOT just horribly unimaginative. I could understand why you might think that, though.]
The most recent adventure in my life has been our honeymoon: two weeks in vibrant, amazing Thailand. We really had no idea of what to expect going in, except for knowing that it would be utterly and completely different from home. And in that regard, it did not disappoint.
I find it a little challenging to talk about visiting other countries, because the homebody in me (yes, it does exist) often spends a good portion of every trip looking for the familiar. That’s something that I’ve tried to fight as I’ve gotten older, because I love to travel, but it doesn’t make the experience too much easier to describe. However, the defining point that we found while traveling is the same one that has made the biggest impact in our lives at home: the food. I like food.
Being sick is legitimately the worst.
I may have mentioned this before, but growing up, one of the most-repeated warnings in my household was, and I quote: “A bored Tess is never a good thing.”
Being sick is SO boring. I always have all of these ideas of cool things to do, and none of them are possible because I’m sick. Or I actually try to do all of them and just prevent myself from getting better any faster. So basically I hate it I hate it I hate it.
Anyway, in the spirit of going along with being sick (I repeat: ugh), I decided to learn how to make homemade chicken stock. Mostly because it feels like doing something when I’m not really supposed to be doing anything at all. I want chicken stock, too.
You guys. I like actually can’t even with these.
I think I mentioned previously that the Husband (!!!) and I spent much of this past fall putting together a little labor of love that was honestly one of my favorite things I’ve ever done. Since we weren’t going to be home for Christmas, we put together a cookbook of our most-cooked meals, as a little snapshot of our world and a way to share one of our favorite ways of spending time together with our families. Gimme that recipe NOW.
I’ve been thinking about what to write here for a very, VERY long time.
Since I last posted here, I have a) gotten married, b) moved to the Bay area, c) had four (4) different full-time jobs, and d) spent a whooooooole lot of time soul-searching. I started coaching and consulting. I’m getting certified as a personal and corporate coach (whoa!). Tell me more!
…but this article about Montclair’s very own wandering bear is just too good not to share with the world. Never forget.
I’ve just (ish) returned from an epic, whirlwind tour of the East Coast. And by East Coast, I mean the tri-state area. And by tri-state area, I mean…never mind. I just got back from the East Coast. Let’s just leave it at that.
I have some observations about the place from whence I hailed (if this is not proper Shakespearean English, I could not be less interested) that I would like to share with you. Please. Sit back, pour yourself some bourbon/wine/water (no judgement) and allow me to regale you with tales of my homeland. Okay, let’s do it.