Rachel here.
No recipe today. Just a moment instead.
We spent Saturday afternoon in the kitchen. John whipped up a gorgeous roast chicken, stuffed to the brim and lying in a bed of sweet potatoes, carrots and onion. It was simple and fresh and, after Maxine was in bed, it made the perfect date night dinner (we have dates on Saturdays, come hell or high water). While he did this, Max and I threw a thousand little bits and pieces into our slow cooker. A handful of corn, pinches of peas, tomato and chicken stock, freshly snapped green beans, carrots and celery and onion freshly sauteed, orzo...and then a little more, and whatever seasonings we could get our hands on from the spice drawer (which is in serious need of a restock). Chicken roasted, soup simmered, and for an hour or so there, all three of us were chitchatting and giggling while our hands worked, sharing tasting spoons and reveling in the warmth and good smells that seeped throughout our house.
I caught myself for a moment, thought "Oh! I'd better start writing this all down. I'd better start snapping pictures." But then I forgot, pulled back into the present by Maxine's request for a spoon to stir with or something like that. And I'm glad.
Because this little pocket in a Saturday afternoon?
It was one of those moments I'd always imagined for my family when I was growing up. Everyone was involved, we were focused on tending to our most basic needs, and none of it felt like work.
It was awesome.
A mother and daughter dish and cook their way through life, one recipe at a time.
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