Secretive-like

Recently SAM accused me of having a "secret food blog." I laughed and replied that it wasn't secret, I just didn't think she'd be interested in it because she doesn't cook. It's not even my blog--Rita created it and invited me to contribute. Lately I think my fellow contributors have gotten busy and I must be bored or cooking a lot or just thinking about food too much, because I seem to have become the main recipe poster of the moment.

It's not a fancy food blog, just basic stuff you can easily whip up with minimal cooking skills. But lest I be accused of hoarding food knowledge and building a secret food blog underground, I thought I'd share. Bon apetit!

Ravioli Day

I think I've said before that one of the things I loved about BD from the very beginning was his big Italian family and the fact that they all liked each other so much. Being from a small family myself, I found it fascinating that there were so many of them, and that they were all so themselves together, and that my cooly cynical teenaged boyfriend's face lit up like a little boy when he talked about upcoming get-togethers with all of them. It still does.

One of the traditions from BD's family that we have taken upon ourselves to pass on (ahem, aside from having lots of babies...), is the massive making of his great-grandparents' ravioli recipe each year before the holidays. We've expanded the tradition to include our friends, who truly are family to us. They are the aunts and uncles our kids will remember always having around (in addition to their real ones, of course), and their kids are the passel of cousins our family does not really have in abundance here in town. This past weekend, we all got together and made 58 dozen ravioli from scratch (I originally miscounted, but bagging them up revealed the true numbers). Thanks to Chip for the great pictures. I love ravioli day.

BD and SAM rolling out the dough and passing strips to the assemblers (with Shannon there to document)

Somerset working very diligently

Calvin preparing for the pickup tray.

Me being the pickup lady
Stacey and Jiro bonding over a ravioli moment

The group enjoying the fruits of their labor

Hillary Clinton reflects

This morning when I woke up I was
not The President, again. I lay in bed
pretending for just that last moment before
opening my eyes that it had happened. That
I was Her, the first, and that I was just about to
sit up, swing my legs over the bed and slide
my feet into the fuzzy presidential slippers.

I think that it is time I took up a hobby. Maybe
I'll go away, get a little cottage and grow things. What
is it that people grow when they do that? Orchids? Too
complicated. Rhubarb? Too...something. Where is the right
climate for cucumbers and mint?

I will let my hair grow long and
stop getting it colored. Or color it pink. I will get a bunch
of cats and let them go just shy of feral, knots of blind kittens
in baskets all the time. I will have a democracy of cats,
who will love me.

And Bill can't come.

Hope

This is the most inspiring collection of photographs of the president-elect that I have seen. Enjoy! Look at those crowds!