What do you get when you cross the working mother of a 3-year old without the ability to manufacture time?
Since I've found myself so crazy busy lately, I don't have the time to actually capture a recipe from start to finish. You know, when you have several hours in the day all to yourself? Quiet, and uninterrupted? I long for those days.
But often I look for inspiration in the most strange of places.
What on earth could bring inspiration from this cabinet? Maybe it's as simple as a vodka tonic.
But then last night there was grilled salad. It's a culinary triumph.
A head of romaine lettuce, cut lengthwise. Drizzled with olive oil, salt and pepper, then placed cut side down on a charcoal grill for a few minutes. Then chop and combine with a few drizzle of good balsamic vinegar. Your tummy will sing.
But today was Easter. And I think someone once told me that any calories consumed on a holiday don't count.
Even if no one told me that, I believe it to be true.
This made for the beginning of a beautiful relationship between starch, cheese and fat. It's from none other than Julia Child's Mastering the Art of French Cooking.
It happens to be a recipe my father made often. In fact, I blame him and his parents for my wicked love of potatoes. No one person should love potatoes the way I do.
After an hour basking in the oven, this emerged.
And when you see this staring back at you, nothing can be wrong.