You know how when your husband is Irish and when you get married, you say you are Irish by marriage?
What? Only me?
I mean I am already Irish, and so is husband, ok let me try this again.
You know how you when you get married you are related to a whole bunch of new crazies... by marriage?
I am moving away from the analogy portion of this post because I am failing miserably.
I have been down recently, this whole new job isn't as awesome as I had hoped, although I like the work, it isn't frequent enough to pay the bills.
My overage check is dwindling down fast and I have started applying for more jobs.
But there is something that is keeping me a float.
Before, I hated dinner. I hated the question of whats for dinner and I hated everything about it, the planning, the execution, everything.
I. Live. For. Dinner.
I go to the store everyday and buy fresh ingredients
I am using the hell out of my iron skillet
I wiped my amazon wish list clean of DVDs and replaced it with mixing bowls, measuring bowls, meat thermometers, and other kitchen fare.
I dream in butter
I want Paula's southern drawl and built in deep fryer
I want Ree's kitchen and landscape, Cows on the back porch? Basset hounds (that's right multiple) on the couch? Yes please!
As I was making dinner the other night, in my trusty iron skillet, as the smell of whiskey bbq sauce wafted around me, the wheels started to turn.
what if, bear with me, what if I wrote about Southern cooking by a northern girl? Or Country cooking in suburbia?
I am not sure if this will be the main focus of my blog, or just a weekly special.
What do you think?
How would you like to see this Yankee try to prepare Southern staples?