The year isn’t through, but already my mama and I have driven as many miles as a Willie Nelson tour minus the pigtails and illegal substances.
Thankfully, on our latest voyage to and from Cleveland to visit my little brother at Case Western Reserve University where he is studying more important things like how to put whoozits and whatzits of the world together, we ate at my grandparent’s house in the tiny town of Gridley, Illinois.
Supper is only elaborate in the details: green beans picked earlier that morning, tomatoes from a neighbor down the street, fresh-baked cornbread and a hibiscus-print tablecloth.
Dinner is normally followed by a walk down the street as the sun sets a orange and purple glow over the cornfields that stretch past the horizon.
And, of course, dessert: homemade peach pie.
In just a few days, I will start the 2 and half day journey back with my mama to Savannah, the land of honey-butter, shrimp, Green Truck and Spanish moss. Although I’ll be back in my kitchen, which is the size of a handicap restroom stall in a recently remodeled Taco Bell, I’m looking forward to bi-weekly walks to my neighborhood Kroger in search of new things to make for dinner.
Behold! Poorly lit iPhone photos of: duck fat potatoes with orange zest, oregano and red pepper flakes
Prosciutto with pickled apricots, peaches and cherries with pink peppercorns and pickled green tomatoes
A duck prosciutto pizza with eggs, parmesan cheese, garlic and rosemary