This is my little nook at the moment.  If I have any readers, I think I can safely assume that some of them are not in college, but once were.  If you fit into this category, take a moment to reminisce about the old days and feel lucky…  Done that?  Good.

I’ve been trying to get into casseroles because it’s more of that hearty New England fare Mr. B was raised on.  I wanted to tell you about the broccoli mushroom casserole I made a few days ago.  As usual when I’m trying something new, I read a whole bunch of recipes and then wing it.  Unfortunately Mr. B could barely choke down two bites.  He really really hated it.  I found it edible but not particularly impressive so I won’t burden you with it’s mediocrity.

I do, however, owe you a post about ice cream.  In Mr. B’s birthday post I offhandedly mentioned the ice cream I had shipped to Boston from Ohio for a pretty penny, but this ice cream deserves more than that.  It deserves odes and sonnets and worshipful papparazzi photographs.  (Yes, that blue background is a sheet.  Yes, I was eating this ice cream from the carton in bed while doing schoolwork.  Mr. B actually brought the last few bites in for me, so I can’t take full credit for the bad behavior.)  I will definitely get to that post, but possibly not until after the break.

I have to get back to analyzing the Berber language.  If you’re even slightly curious about what that entails, listen to this short clip of a Berber woman telling a story.  Neat huh?

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