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?