Tag Archives: food

Eat. Pie. Love.

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The other day we drove almost 2 hours to look at a used pool table. It was a piece of junk and we had to drive almost 2 hours back. Funny how that works. So when I saw a sign that said Pies! Pies! Pies! I knew we had to stop.

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At an adorable little store on a lovely 40 acre farm.

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Yes, a mother and her 15 year old home schooled daughter run the entire farm by themselves. Please note all work is done by horse and ox. Maine women are nothing if not capable.

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The store was filled with the fruits of their labor. Jams, jellies, relishes, honey, pies, wool, dried flowers, wreaths, maple syrup, soap… and yes. Everything was made by their own hands.

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And this wasn’t some run down ramshackle operation. It was lovely, well kept and clean.

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When my husband opened the upright freezer and saw it was packed with pot pies, quiches, turkey soup, mushroom ravioli, pesto, and minestrone he asked the girl when they found time to sleep.

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Jam came home with us. As did some soap, some soup and of course…..

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Pie.

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Which instead of a traditional crust had a marvelously buttery and flaky rolled pastry foundation.

Pie.

It’s what’s for dinner.

And maybe breakfast.

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Things that are sad, but true.

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This first one might be a bit of an exaggeration…

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But there’s a reason I have a permanent dent in my right shoulder and tend to list a little to that side.

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Cross off the always annoyed and it’s a perfect description of me in the past year. Sigh…

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We cat people pretend our feline overlords feel deep affection for us…. but it’s just as likely they’d eat us if we dropped dead on the living room floor.

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Now that, is a dilemma.

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Smellovision.

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Someone needs to invent the technology and WordPress needs to adopt it.

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Because our apple trees are in full bloom and the scent is beyond heavenly.

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I wish the pictures did them more justice.

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The white and pink blossoms really pop in person.

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And from the looks of the quantity, it’s going to be an autumn filled with pie.

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And cobbler, and torte, and crisp, and cake, and muffins…

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Well, you get the idea.

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Unrelated drivel.

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Can someone please explain what frog logs taste like…

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And why anyone would want to find out?

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This completely cracked me up, because it’s true. I’ve waged war with that cursed masher for years.

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Charming… or ridiculous?

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I’m going with the latter.

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The Sunday senior pool games are still going strong. And this little old man is so sweet I’ve started baking goodies.

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Because nothing says hard core pool tournament better than fresh banana bread.

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Quick… list them on eBay!

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On our way home from our scenic drive the other day we stopped for a cocktail ( or two ).

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Repeat after me… martinis are not made with rum. Nope. Uh uh. Never. Cherry Gin Ricky it is.

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Nice flavor, but a little too sweet so I asked the bartender to dial back the grenadine on #2. Bartenders are wonderful people, so helpful and attentive to our needs.

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Cocktails with my husband always requires food, so he ordered mussels while I opted for Truffle fries. Both were yummy but the real news? Even after I declined ketchup, 3 packets made their way to our table.

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Oh, the extravagance! After the waitress said she couldn’t take them back due to Covid rules… and when my husband remembered there was a shortage causing people to list them on eBay for $15 per… he scooped them up and brought them home. Where they’ll languish in the drawer until the next global pandemic lockdown.

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If you don’t have any plans today….

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Perhaps you’d like to hug a water buffalo.

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It’s free, and you have to admit the toddlers sure are cute.

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Of course inviting you to hug a calf and then directing you to the store to purchase a rump roast of his family is a bit rude….

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I hope no one tells this sweet little fellow Uncle Otto didn’t really go to Boca on vacation.

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*Gulp*

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In retrospect, not a good idea.

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We have a raccoon who visits nightly. And while he’s a cute, pudgy old fellow… he’s extremely destructive when it comes to our birds feeders. Every morning we wake up to one or two on the ground, often in pieces. A month ago I started taking them down at dusk and putting them in the garage overnight. When I went to bed early last week and forgot? The husband got lazy and left them on the kitchen porch.

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Not a good idea.

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Not at all good.

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It’s that time of year.

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The time of year Mainers go absolutely bat shit crazy over a tiny unfurled fern frond.

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The season is short and anxiously awaited. Foraging sites are secret and passed down from one generation to another.

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Cleaning methods are also hotly debated.

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Personally? I can’t stand the slimy little things… I don’t care how you cook them, they taste like swamp. But that’s okay, it just means there are more for you.

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Forget toilet paper.

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There’s a new product shortage right around the corner.

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Yes, it’s true.

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So if you’re hard up for cash? Start digging through your car’s glove compartment for the ketchup you threw in there during your road trip to see the world’s largest ball of twine back in ‘04. That stuff is gold!

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Because the price gouging has begun.

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In reality I guess it makes a perverse type of sense.

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20 packets for $50 doesn’t seem like a bargain to me.

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But in a few months, maybe it will be.

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Cultural differences.

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I read an article the other day that made me chuckle.

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The list was long, but here are a few highlights.

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Yikes. I am in no way, shape or form a penny pincher…. ( the jury is still out on arse ) but I always box up my uneaten goodies. This has nothing to do with being cheap and everything to do with not wanting to cook dinner the next day. Of course we’re talking about English food here, so it really isn’t a surprise no one wants to bring that home.

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Okay, I’m doomed. We spent 18 years in the south.. and smothered with sausage gravy is my very favorite way to eat biscuits.

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Fanny means vagina? I had an aunt named Fanny. (crazy, but true) Then again, she was a nasty old biddy who should have embraced her latent homosexuality instead of living alone and miserable all of her bitter loveless life… so, okay.

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Side note… Googling ‘Aunt Fanny’ makes me realize I am woefully out of touch.

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It’s beginning to look like I won’t be able to cross England off my bucket list. I drink fresh brewed unsweetened iced tea every day, winter, spring, summer and fall. Why do Brits have such an aversion to ice?

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Oh good grief. I’ve always used spunky as an adjective. Looks like I’m going to have to rethink that…

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Uh oh.

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