A cold room, or “root cellar”, is an underground room (often found under a front porch) that is built to maintain a constant, cool temperature without allowing what’s inside to freeze. Jars of tomatoes, beans, salsa, sauerkraut, beets, pickles, jams and jellies, and fruit sauces, all ready and waiting.
I woke up this morning to three wonderful things: a hot cup of coffee, a gorgeous sunrise, and a picture of Mike Matheny on espn.go.com/mlb!
My girlfriends talk about Kenny Chesney, Justin Timberlake, and Matt Damon. Don’t get me wrong … these are handsome men. But there is something about a man in a white uniform who can own a baseball cap.
In case I have lost you, Mike Matheny is the manager of my beloved St. Louis Cardinals. And don’t worry … my husband knows all about my crush. I like to make him and my boys roll their eyes when a game is on and I hush them whenever the camera crew gets a shot of Mike.
According to the National Food Day calendar, today is National Sweet Potato Day. I love sweet potatoes in every form: casserole, soup, baked, risotto, pie. Seeing sweet potato fries on a menu makes me very happy. My guys? Not so much. But that just gives me ammunition …
Two years ago at Thanksgiving, I told my husband and two boys I was going to make one pumpkin pie and one sweet potato pie to see if they could even tell the difference. They were confident they were up to the challenge…
A couple weeks ago, a story on a national news morning show caught my attention. It featured a high school student who had reached the limit of debt on his/her lunch account and instead of the usual school lunch, received a “sandwich of shame”. It was bread and cheese. Other students and parents, as well as many, many people across the United States, were outraged, using words like “mortifying” and “embarrassing” and “offensive” to describe the “humiliation” of such a thing.
It is one of those near perfect winter days in Iowa … cold but not windy, bright even though it’s not sunny, enough snow on the ground to sparkle and make everything clean. These are the days that make me think back on my fondest sledding memories.
We didn’t have snowsuits or temperature rated snow boots. We had layers upon layers of whatever we could find. Talk about a work-out! We trudged up and down hills, crunching through the crusty top layer of snow, down through the depth of whatever was in the way of us getting back to the starting point. Our sleds were a colorful plastic sheet that rolled up on us as soon as we fell off or wiped out.
What does this have to do with spaghetti?