Writing Day

Spending the afternoon at Barnes & Noble with a hot chai and my writing friend. Inspiration is flowing, just not in my direction it seems.

I was here yesterday morning for the book discussion on The School of Essential Ingredients by Erica Bauermeister. The facilitator asked each of us to rate the book from one-to-ten which is always interesting. We have a wide variety of people in the group and the answers ranged from 3 to 9. I gave it a 7.

This was a good easy read and thought provoking. It made me want to head for the kitchen and make something or just eat. I always tend to get the munchies when I read anyway.

As part of the discussion we told stories about our own cooking mishaps and I had a humdinger, which just happened while the kids were here. To tell the story I have to back up a bit.

Everybody loved my Great Grandmother Nellie. My memories of her are vague but my sister being ten years older and the oldest of our generation remembered her well. Nellie had a set of berry dishes that managed to go through the years without a single chip. My aunt told me that as they were growing up each one of the kids was so afraid they'd be the first to break a berry dish.

The dishes went to my sister and now are mine. There are 12 small dishes that fit into the serving bowl like a puzzle. It reminds me of a pineapple.

I decided that while our daughter and grandsons were here we needed to add the next two generations to the use of the dishes. So I went and bought a bunch of strawberries and cut them up, added sugar and let them set in the fridge for the afternoon.

That evening after my daughter made her speciality chicken and dumplings I couldn't wait to serve up the strawberries.

They tasted a funny to me but nobody said anything. I kept trying to figure out if there

was something wrong with them and then suddenly it hit me . . .

instead of adding sugar to the bowl I had

grabbed the salt canister.

Salted strawberries.

I will never live that one down.