We giggled as I strapped her into my Ergo baby carrier yesterday before nap time. I found this relic of Karis' infancy while sorting through her baby clothes the other day. I pulled it out to surprise her and show her how I carried her around when she was a baby. She loved the experience of sitting so close to me and has since asked to go back in it a few times. I should have known that this little girl--who is still very much a baby in many ways--would love to be held like one. And I should have known that this mommy--who knows her baby-ness is quickly fading--would enjoy carrying her like one.
I love food. I love to talk about it, eat it, watch people eat it, write about watching people eat it...you get the idea. Lately, I've been narrowing down what exactly it is that I like so much about food and the act of eating. One conclusion I have come to is that I love food stories. I love the intersection where food and people's lives collide. Recently, I've been enjoying a few food related books. Belinda Hulin's Roux Memories: A Cajun-Creole love Story With Recipes has taken me down the path of her childhood in New Orleans. It's filled with family photographs, and each recipe begins with a short story that explains the roots of the recipe in her family history. I've also enjoyed Harvest to Heat: Cooking with America's Best Chefs, Farmers, and Artisans. While the recipes don't seem very accessible to home cooks like myself, I love the stories about the farmers and chefs and their collaborations with each other. While I know I should expand my reading repertoire, books like these keep me heading back to my library's food section time after time.
Lately I've been enjoying the beautifully melancholy music of Rufus Wainwright. Karis, on the other hand, called it "scary boy music"and made a low, grunting noise to mimic his sound. I'm not swayed by her disapproval, and I even posted an article about my affection for his work over at Synconation yesterday.
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Posted by Alina at 8:30 PM