Sometimes I feel like I should change the name of this blog to I LoveSmittenKitchen.com; more often than not, the recipes there are inspiring, well written, and above all delicious. So it’s little surprise that many of the recipes I’ve written about here came to me via Deb. Most of her recipes are near perfect written as is, so I’ll only make minor tweaks, but sometimes I just can’t leave well enough alone.
Honestly, I’m not quite sure that I understand all the hype (positive AND negative) surrounding Valentine’s day. That’s not to say that I don’t enjoy the holiday (I do, proudly). I think it’s excellent to take a little extra time out of your day to appreciate those you love, romantically or otherwise, including yourself. It’s easy to forget to slow down a bit and smell the flowers (literally and figuratively), and if this day reminds you to do so, then how bad can it be? I’m all for an excuse to indulge, but I’m just not, and never have been, a dozen long-stem red roses kind of girl.
I think it’s time for a small confession. I toyed with starting a food blog for at least a solid year or two before penning (typing?) the first post here. Looking back it seems silly, but not in the least bit surprising, to have waited that long to do something I’ve grown to enjoy so much. I am, and always have been, ruled by a frustrating mixture of perfectionism, procrastination and self-doubt. Putting forth anything into the world that’s short of my admittedly narrow and stringent view of perfection can be agonizingly difficult, almost painful.
I’ve never been much of a summer girl (though a certain LFO song is a guilty pleasure of mine), that is, the traditional trappings of summer generally don’t appeal to me. Fair of hair and skin, I burn in the shade, and I don’t swim, so pools and beaches for the most part are out. Mosquitoes love me, though I can’t say the feeling is reciprocated. And don’t get me started on summertime heat and humidity, the mere thought nearly triggers the beading of sweat on my lower back.
Earlier today I caught part of a discussion on memoir writing on Talk of the Nation*, a program I sometimes tune into on NPR. While some points of advice seemed sager than others, what really stuck with me was the mediator Marion Roach Smith’s insistence that for memoir writing to ring true in any format, one must check their embellishments; a good story, told well, is intriguing enough. Forever the self-conscious writer, I re-read my nine blog entries to date, and found that as a small but growing collection, this blog reads as a diary of a
reformed reforming picky eater.
*Is it just me, or do you as well find this program very hit or miss? I suppose it’s to be expected when a show relies so heavily on audience participation. I often find myself puzzled and astounded by the broad range of call-in commentaries ranging from brilliant to close-minded.