Easter is a day of conflict for me and exists in my memory bank in two different settings: Before and After 1982.
Before the Double-Handed Farallon’s Race in 1982, Easter morning was always awakening to a basket filled with chocolate bunnies, Cadbury eggs, malted milk balls in pastel colors and, my favorite still to this day, those sickly sweet, sugar-coated marshmallow Peeps. (I’ve tried them all and the yellow chicks are still the best.)
In our early years, my sister and I would be dressed in matching frilly frocks and we’d go to the morning service at the First Presbyterian Church in Alameda. This is the church that my Nana and Papy joined when they settled in Alameda after immigrating to America from Belfast, Northern Ireland in the late 1940s. My parents were married there in 1963 and my sister and I attended Sunday School when we weren’t away for the weekend on our family sailboat.
After the service, we’d head to Encinal Yacht Club for the traditional brunch, a visit from the Easter Bunny, and an egg hunt on the lawn overlooking the Estuary. In my teen years, my mother was the Social Chair and I was recruited to be the Easter Bunny for several years. Why they thought that a young girl going through puberty would look good in a grey leotard, tights and bunny ears, is beyond me. It didn’t bother me then, but I cringe now when I think about it … and wonder if anyone else saw it as a weird and inappropriate version of a Playboy Bunny. But times really were more innocent then, and the children loved it.
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Macaroni and cheese is one of our favorite comfort foods. I’ve made it a kazillion ways using different varieties of cheese, baked, straight from the pot, with a bread crumb topping, and without.
Sometimes my recipes are created out of necessity, as in this case. I bought a 4 lb pork loin that I thought would be great for my hubby to smoke. I’ll be the first to admit that I have no clue as to the fine art of barbecuing, grilling and smoking. He mentioned that this cut might dry out but went ahead and brined and smoked, spending all day tending to our main course for the evening. And lo and behold, he was right. It was far from tender and juicy and instead almost inedible.
She took the pictures from the back of the closet and placed them in a box for the movers. She promised herself that she wasn’t going to look at them, but she couldn’t resist and turned over the small one that used to sit on her makeup table. As her fingers stroked the glass her mind drifted back to that magical day.
Hubby has been doing a ton of meat smoking since we were gifted with a mini-Traegar barbeque from his Dad. We’ve done salmon, whole chickens, corned beef (which makes pastrami), and beef and pork roasts. Roasts end up in recipes for two or three meals and I try to be creative in changing up the flavor profile so we aren’t eating the same thing every night.
Vivo O Sonho 