Thanksgiving note
We had a guest for Thanksgiving, a neighbor from down the street. I'd filled one of my rice rings with roasted brussel spouts with pomegranate. "Wow," Dave said, "these are the best damned brussel sprouts I've ever tasted." "He took another bite, "I've never liked brussel sprouts, but these are good."
I took a bite myself, "Yep, they turned out pre' good."
Dave tipped his chin at the table. "How'd you learn to cook like this?"
"Well, it wasn't from my mother." I waved my fork. "She used to always kick us out of the kitchen when she was cooking."
Across the table, my son Sam snorted.
"Oh," I said, sheepish, "do I do that?"
Sam rolled his eyes at me. "You did that to me three times just today."
Originally posted to Dreamwidth, were there are
comments. Dreamwidth comments
I took a bite myself, "Yep, they turned out pre' good."
Dave tipped his chin at the table. "How'd you learn to cook like this?"
"Well, it wasn't from my mother." I waved my fork. "She used to always kick us out of the kitchen when she was cooking."
Across the table, my son Sam snorted.
"Oh," I said, sheepish, "do I do that?"
Sam rolled his eyes at me. "You did that to me three times just today."
Originally posted to Dreamwidth, were there are
comments. Dreamwidth comments