Jim and I live on soup. Ok we refer to it as “stew-p” because it always winds up being more veggies than broth. But it’s finally warm(ish) in Rochester and I can’t bear to look at another turnip.
If Jim were a salad-eater, I fill the fridge with greens, but he isn’t. And I’m so off meat that it seems pointless to fire up the grill just for zucchini.
There isn’t anything summerish about Indian food (except that it’s hot in India, I guess). But I decided that Indian food is going to be this month’s passion because… well, we just need some new flavors. And rice is not potatoes.
So I stocked up on exotic spices this morning at the public market and ground my own garam masala (cinnamon, cloves, cardamom, cumin, black pepper, nutmeg). I have an ancient Cuisinart mini-grinder that doesn’t grind coffee at all well and I keep threatening to pitch it — but it did ok on the spices (reprieve).
We’ll see what dreamy dishes transpire.