Arepas con Frijoles
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Wow! I am so impressed by the amazing response to my husbands' face book post that it almost makes me want to reinstate my own face book account (I officially exited society as our generation knows it about two months ago; I just never really understood the appeal...)
Well, I've done it again. I bought another unripe melon. I was so confident in my melon purchase this time, only to be deeply disappointed. I think I have finally learned a valuable life lesson: when the price of melons has been discounted, don't buy them.
Anyway, my beautiful newlywed friend Kelly is coming for brunch, and she loves all things tropical, so I have decided to make tropical pancakes. The pancake part was her request. The tropical part is because she just returned from her honey moon in Hawaii to May in Oregon.
I have a fabulous problem: every time I see my mom, she loads me up with herbs that she buys in huge bundles from New Seasons. They are wonderfully fresh, aromatic, and liven up everything I put them in. This is great for many reasons, including the fact that every herb (or plant for that matter) that I am given or that I buy, ends up dying. While my neighbors apparently cannot control their rosemary bushes that are growing like weeds, I spent almost a year trying to nurse my little potted sprig back to life, before finally giving up when winter hit.
Today is the exact date when one year ago my husband started his amazing-straight-out-of-college job. I am so proud of him, how hard he worked to graduate with two degrees, and how hard he works now to provide for his family. And what better way to say "thank you" and "I am so proud of you" and even "I love you" than with butter and sugar?
I spent today with my mother and my son in my favorite place on Earth: Multnomah Village.
I was very blessed to live in this sleepy little corner of Southwest Portland for the first eighteen years of my life. It was the perfect place to grow up, with charming neighborhoods and a beautiful, lush park that surrounds a quaint little row of shops known as "the Village."
It seems that time stands still in this village; it's like your favorite fairy tale storybook that you can return to at any age and be delighted with each time.
My son, James, had never been in the village in all his ten months of life, so when my mom asked what would I like to do with a free sunny Friday, visiting Multnomah seemed the obvious answer.
We started at O'Connor's.
So, last night I made these amazing quesadillas. I had to make them again for lunch today so I could photograph them, because I had no idea last night that I would be starting a blog today. Darn.
"Fruit's a gamble; I know that goin' in." -Jerry Seinfeld
So true. I am so frustrated every time I come home from the store and, despite all my slapping and tapping and acting like I know how to pick a ripe melon, I cut it open to find it is tough and tasteless. But, it's not like I'm going to return it, so I attempt to use it anyway. First, I give it to my son, James. Who knows? Maybe he will like it?
He picks up a little piece with his now-mastered pincher grasp and cautiously places it in his mouth. He gums it for a second, looks up at me with a furrowed brow, and spits it out onto his shirt. He then avoids the rest of the melon pieces in front of him and concentrates on the more important foods, like cheese. I can't say I blame him.
I then try to give it to my dog, Sadie. She wasn't born yesterday either. After she chews and spits out a couple of pieces, I sigh and decide that I must find a way to use the melon.
So, I made a delicious fruit salad. The key is to mince the melon into small enough pieces that you will never scoop up a bite of only melon. I didn't measure any of the ingredients, but here is a rough estimate: