Ribs and How to Rub Them | {Three Hour Sweet & Spicy Ribs}

That handsome Dutchman that I call my husband is taking over today. He is going to rub the heck out of some ribs and show you just how easy it can be! Let’s get to some rib-rubbin’. Delicious. Take it away, Peter. 

There’s something very American about ribs. There’s something very Dutch about my family. As such, there wasn’t much crossover between the two and I grew up on a generally rib-free diet (that consisted more of chocolate and cheese than animal parts). This absence of barbecue (outside of simple things like hamburgers) made the whole concept of roasting and smoking meats intimidating.
To put things in perspective, the Dutch are traditionally known for two kinds of food: pancakes and fries (pannekoeken and frites). Not necessarily together, though I can’t promise I’ve never walked down this indulgent path. And through years of historical entanglement, the Dutch have close ties to Indonesia. Thus our dinner table was covered in Nasi Goreng and Atjar Tjampoer, or otherwise with hagelslaag (chocolate sprinkles on toast). […]

Papaya Sunrise Green Smoothie

I officially don’t own flip flops.

This is a big deal. I live in California. It’s like a state requirement. At any moment the California police are probably going to walk into my house and take me away. I’ll be forced to explain to them that it’s not my fault that I am wearing shoes and socks in 90 degree heat. I will sell out the dog and explain that she has officially chewed up every pair of (expensive) flip flops that I own.  They will arrest both of us. We will end up in the same Women’s Correctional Facility. Emma will make my life hell and I will be labeled a “snitch” for ratting her out. She will chew up all of my bath slippers and I will be forced to shower without flip flops. I hear that’s a no go in prison. I’ve clearly been watching too much Orange is the New Black. Like, whoa. Prison tangent. Normal for a Tuesday.

My point is (if there is one), it totally sucks to wake up on a Monday morning and discover that both your Reef sandals and your husbands Rainbow sandals have been reduced to leathery spit balls. At the rate we are going, I will be shoeless by August. I will be relegated to digging in my closet to find the one pair of forgotten shoes that I can strap onto my feet. Is it going to be my ugg-style cat boots (highly misguided fashion choice) or will it be the slightly furry Birkenstock clogs that I obtained for free by Christmas caroling at the Birkenstock factory in 2001? Both choices sound pretty solid. Help.

One day, in my teaching years, I found myself wearing the aforementioned Birkenstock clogs to class. I was informed by a six year old that it looked like I was wearing a couple of sea otters on my feet. I think I replied with a simple, “They are.”  Gotta keep ’em guessing. […]

Brussels Sprout Salad With Walnuts, Cherries & Bacon

Summertime means 9pm cocktails on the deck because the sun has yet to go down. It means grilling. It means buying 4lbs of peaches at the farmer’s market and existing on them for days at a time. It means questionable fashion decisions because, heck, it’s hot. It means letting the dog get wet while you water your plants because she must be ever hotter in that fur suit of hers. It means let’s not turn on our oven tonight. It means berry picking and cucumber pickling. It means walking to the park in the evening and feeling the warm breeze hit your skin. It means waking up with approximately six mosquito bites on your backside even though you were totally wearing pants last night on that walk. What? That’s uncomfortable. Oh, well. It means you’re now having an intense relationship with Calamine lotion. Excellent.

Summer totally means SALAD. You know what I’m talking about. It means the kind of salads that can pass as a whole meal. The kind of salad that your husband will ogle because it has bacon and fruit and is topped with a runny soft-boiled egg. This salad is serious and meaty and summery. It’s a total win. I could actually put this in my face for breakfast. I will do it. Don’t dare me. Someone get me a fork. I mean… can we just look at this pretty little thing for a minute? Ugh. Now. Gimme. […]

Tipsy Blueberry Banana Bread {Gluten-Free & Paleo}

Nothing says “your four day weekend is officially over!” like waking up at 3:30am to the sound of your cat vomiting onto your bed sheets. It got way too real way too quickly this morning.
I mean, I know that not everyday can be farmer’s markets, painting the entire living room while listening to old Beck albums, beautiful Golden Gate Bridge views, fro-yo in the sun, grilling in the afternoon, marathon-ing Netflix, too many potato chips, drinking whiskey in your underpants because it’s so dang hot and summery kind of a day. I know. I get it. Without the routine of real life those four day weekends of glorious nothingness and everything-ness would not seem special. But… I still feel waking up to the sound of your cat retching suspiciously close to your ankles is not ideal. However, when this unfortunate event does happen, I will give you a pro-tip. Sure, you might be the first person to wake up at the cat’s heaving. Maybe your husband or partner is still snoring and fast asleep next to you. You can totally nudge them until they wake up and then pretend that YOU are sleeping. They will hear the terrible noises and rush to clean things up. Not that I have ever done this (I have). That is so rude (but totally effective). Being married is awesome.
You know what else is awesome? This slightly drunken loaf of blueberry banana heaven! Did you like that flawless segue? Naturally. Okay, so I might have baked this loaf of bread while it was close to 100 degrees outside. This is because 1) I am obviously slightly insane  and 2) My husband gets really angry when I don’t use the old bananas that I let rot into mush on the counter. These bananas are laying there browning and mushing because I always claim I’m going to make banana bread. Do you guys do that too? Pete has little tolerance for it anymore. I kind of get it. We have been doing this relationship thing for ten years. Those ten years have seen lots of rotting bananas that have NOT made their way into banana breads. It pets his peeve. Is that a thing? Do I have to say pet peeve together? I don’t think I like the sound of petting someones peeve. Perhaps that is my pet peeve. Full circle. […]