books
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🍴: Mon – TJ’s lemon ricotta ravioli with the end of a pack of speck and a leftover Comte cheese cream sauce with some horseradish, salad. Tues – pink peppercorn steak frites, salad Wed – vaguely SWANA-esque chicken thighs with lentils, asparagus Thur – Thai-ish mussels Fri – a borlotti lamon smash with roasted romanesco
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I had most of this drafted to post last night but then we had way too much fun cooking and dancing and watching the teevee, so… happy Monday! 🍴: Mon — balsamic herb baked chicken thighs with potatoes and kale Tues — seared tuna with a quickle radish/carrot/cucumber and edamame, salad with ginger dressing Wed
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Fun fact: I had this all mainly drafted and already to go… and forgot to finish it on Sunday when I had a costume fitting, yoga, and two blocks of rehearsal. Y’all know I never claimed to be a proper blogger. 🍴: Mon- the world’s fastest caldo verde soup inspired by this month’s Food &
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🍴: Mon – Accidental Meatless Monday feat. mushroom tacos with refried beans, queso, corn, avocado, and pickled radish — possibly Hampton’s favorite veg tacos ever. Also, we took the new TJ’s frozen plantains for a spin in the air fryer. Hampton tried them at work and said they were a bit sweet, so we added
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Whew, where the heck did the past two weeks go. I’m in rehearsals — which I just realized I haven’t actually written about. Ok, more on that this week. Anyway, six hours of call on a Sunday definitely gets in the way of my sharing recipes with… all five of you… esp. as Sunday is
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As mentioned, I occasionally, er, often read books for Voracious Readers Only. I get free books, authors get reviews to help them sell said books, win/win. The problem is that sometimes I read too, well, voraciously, and Amazon decides I’ve posted too many reviews at one time. I feel super guilty that two of my
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Poets.org daily poetry emails are a welcome start to my day. They are usually thought-provoking and usually introduce me to someone new. I was recently struck by The Puppet-Player by Angelina Weld Grimké: Sometimes it seems as though some puppet-player, A clenched claw cupping a craggy chin Sits just beyond the border of our seeing, Twitching


