With the glut of Mid-Summer zucchini well under way, I would likely have made bread of the over-abundant squash anyway, but fresh, clean air and abiding temperatures makes this ritual infinitely more enjoyable for me, despiser of indoor ambiance exceeding 80° Fahrenheit.
I adore the crispy-outside-cakey-sweet-inside thing... especially studded with crunchy, pecan-y goodness. I'm all about texture... and flavor, too, naturally.
My people are not the nut-ophiles I am, however, so I inevitably end up making two batches of nearly everything. (Mine is the taller one on the left owing the additional volume to the nuts, of course.) I will NOT be denied my tree-borne gems that I love so. One more thing I inherited from my Grannee. She put nuts in everything.
My other project this weekend is Creme Brulée... or variations on custard. Whatever.
I learned over an awe-inspiring dinner at Cuvée in unassuming, nearby Carlton, that my beloved really likes custard. I had no idea. I mean, I knew he would eat it, as he eats every morsel I put in front of him, but he's not so much a "dessert guy."
I was about to order the Creme Brulée (Beth!) when the waiter, STRONGLY suggested, I opt instead for the "fresh berry tart that just came out of the oven... well, it's not really a tart because it doesn't have a crust, but it's really good. You want that." Okaaaay.
It was still-warm, perfect custard bejewelled with blue-, marion-, and raspberries and my husband ate HALF of it! "Oh, I LOVE custard!" he announced in apparent reaction to my stunned expression.
So. Having been denied my Creme Brulée AND this new slice of information on the man with whom I have shared exactly half my life, perfect custard has become this weekend's quest.
Like I said, I'm LOVING this most unusual late July drizzle... though, with the workout I'll be giving my oven, I'll have to actually duck outside to benefit from it.
My apologies to all the sobbing brides frantically scouring the phone books for the last white tent available to save their shower-sodden wedding reception, but I'm happy.
Cloudy days are better for photography anyway and you're a silly, silly girl if you think the Farmer's Almanac is filled with information any more accurate than questionable guesses and amusing trivia.
This is Oregon. It rains here.
Following your tear-choked exclamation of, "YES, Brandon, of COURSE I'll be your wife!" the very next words to leap from your lips into your shiny, pink Razor phone should have been, "Hello? Tent rental guy?"
This is garden GROWING weather and will stave off the inevitable lettuce bolt a little while longer! It's cool and delicious, but still shorts weather. This is MY kind of Summer.