This story has nothing and yet everything to do with roasted strawberry milkshakes. Regardless, I’m going to tell it if for the only reason that I can’t get it out of my head until I get it onto paper (or the screen as the case may be).

Gabe and I sat down to a simple meal – a sort of unintended date night. The kids were already in bed and we hadn’t eaten yet, so I stumbled into the kitchen to make us some dinner.

At the edge of the table I set out a cloth napkin and placed the hot cast iron skillet on top. In it tomatoes danced around long-simmered poblano peppers and onions with a few just-set eggs in the middle of it all. Next to the skillet I laid out some homemade bread – too dense, too wheaty and yet, homemade so it really wasn’t too bad.

Our plates sat by the hot pan and I lifted my phone above the scene just enough so that the bread, the skillet and our plates were in view. As I studied the image I noticed that a few random papers made their way into the corner of the frame. I pushed them just out of view and tried for another shot. This time a few of our computer cables cluttered the top right of the image and I shoved them aside and tried again.

Three-quarters of our table was a mess of papers, books, spiderman coloring pages, hello kitty stickers, coffee cups and clumps of oatmeal from the morning. I opted to only shoot the last quarter of our table that showed a simple, yet beautiful meal. I paused that moment which showed two people about to sit down together, after a long day, to enjoy dinner and one another.

For some reason this scene grabbed my attention. For a moment I asked myself, am I being deceitful? It’s not really the whole picture. The reality is the table was a disaster and we were relegated to a fraction of it, tucked deep into the corner because the mess from the day still showed.

But then an even louder voice shuddered the shame and told me, this is what it looks like to have eyes for joy. To be able to focus on the fraction that isn’t messy, that shows beauty and truth and a gift rather than concentrate on the mess.

I hold Ivy tightly on the couch, our legs intertwined. She nestles into my chest as if she’s a part of me. I alternate between kissing the top of her head and smelling it. Breathing in the moment, I count it as joy.

Baron’s words move faster than I can listen as he spouts of the plan for his clan in his new favorite game, Clash of Clans. He’s bursting to boast of his scheme and we listen intently not because we’re so thrilled by his stockpile of gold but because he’s so happy. I squeeze his cheeks together so his lips pucker and his eyes squish against the weight of my hands just as they did when I squished his baby cheeks together. I kiss him regardless of disgusted groans. His smirk doesn’t hide the fact that he still loves my squeezes. This moment is joy.

Gabe came home from the grocery store and before he even made it into the kitchen I could smell the sweet earthy scent radiating from the flat of strawberries he brought home. The kids and I eagerly descended upon the box and immediately stained our fingers with their sweet and vibrant juice. One bite and I had visions of ducking into the rows of berries to pick pounds and pounds to get us through the winter. That taste, so simple and familiar, is joy.

These moments are tucked in between the spilled milk, a relentless pile of laundry, a sink full of dirty dishes, bandaging a scraped knee and a word that falls painfully on my heart. I can choose to go through my day and see only the things that need to be done and the things that I’m not doing but I want a life that recognizes the spurts and bursts of joy that interject our days. I want to laugh as infectiously as the Car Talk brothers and be the source of someone else’s smile. I want to hold my kids tight in this moment not longing for the past or fretting about what’s next but enjoying this moment. I want to sit at the end of a table with my husband and talk to him about his day while ignoring the mess on the other side. I want to pause in the middle of drinking my milkshake and take in its sweetness and soft vanilla scent wading through the pink straw and recognize it for the gift it really is.

I’m still new at this. It is a habit I’m developing. When I’m present to my day even the laundry pile is a reminder of how fortunate we are. The scraped knee is a reminder to be thankful for our bodies that move, grow and heal. It’s not some sort of sappy, false happiness, it’s much greater than that. It’s so much easier for me to let things pile on and feel burdened and distraught but what a better way to live – to present to the joy and recognize its presence all around.

Roasted Strawberry Milkshake

Roasted Strawberries

A hot oven never ceases to amaze me. I sit in awe in front of the oven window watching butter, flour and water turn into flaky pastry and now I’ve turned to the oven to transform fresh berries into a sweet, tart and jammy mix that makes a simple strawberry milkshake into something pretty damn magical.

All of this is very adaptable. Add sugar or not, add more berries or less, add a shot of liqueur or leave it out.

8 cups halved strawberries

1/4 – 1/3 cup sugar

1 vanilla bean, split and seeds removed

Preheat your oven to 375 degrees F.

Place strawberries on a parchment lined sheet tray and sprinkle with sugar. Toss the strawberries with the sugar and vanilla seeds and place the vanilla bean on the tray with the berries too.

Roast for 30-40 minutes until some of the edges of the strawberries have crisped, the berries have softened and a pool of ruby red juice covers the pan.

For the milkshake:

Place a good amount, about a pint, of vanilla ice cream into a blender or food processor along with a cup, or so, of cooled roasted berries and their juice. Blend or pulse until smooth.

Pour into cups and serve with whipped cream.

When the light is golden and hazy I take my time walking down our street to look beyond Ballard and over Queen Anne hill to see the tip of the Space Needle punctuating the top. It towers above the Evergreens just before the hill dips and descends into Lake Union which isn’t seen from my walk but I like knowing it’s there.

Nearly everyday we drive over a bridge. When its arms are stretched upwards to allow a towering boat to pass through it’s a bit maddening. I can’t stay mad for long as I strain to look down its passage and if it is at just the right time of day with the sun peering through the clouds, the water under the bridge sparkles in a way that gives me a bit of a flutter and a burst of pride that I get to call this place home.

In Seattle every day there’s a farmer’s market, our compost is twice as big as our garbage bin, and we can be standing at the edge of the water with the cold ocean lapping at our feet in five minutes or in the mountains in under an hour. When the bustle of the city overwhelms we shimmy up to my parent’s house and in just over an hour we amid the rolling hills, a couple of ponies, a vibrant garden and enough bugs and threat of snakes to remind me that I’m a city girl.

I adore Seattle. It’s home and most likely will remain that way for quite a long while but I sort of feel like a fraud because you see, I don’t much like seafood. Gasp.

It is for the promise of fresh seafood that people flock to Seattle. You think of Seattle and I imagine one of the first images you see is rain and then you probably imagine a large, plump fish with silvery skin flying across a crowd and into the arms of a sturdy, orange-slickers wearing Public Market employee.

It’s my distaste of salmon that I’m most embarrassed about. When I say I’m from Seattle the subject of salmon often comes up. Whoever I’m talking to recounts their love for the pink-fleshed fish and most often I’ll nod as if in agreement as I continue to let them praise the fish. Salmon is practically Seattle’s mascot, either that or a little gray rain cloud.

I once heard or read Andrew Zimmerman, or maybe it was Mark Bittman, talk about how you can grow to like certain foods you once disdained. First you eat it from a place you trust and secondly, you eat it often. I’m a firm believer in this practice as I’ve used it to get over my aversion to mushrooms and oysters. Yes, I’ll eat oysters straight from the sea with just a few drops of lemon squeezed over its briny flesh. So I imagine my love of salmon isn’t far off.

Recently I conquered step 1 when I ordered the crispy skinned salmon at Matt’s in the Market. The details of the dish allude me now but I think peas were somehow involved and I do remember that I cleaned my plate. Now I’m working on step 2. At my birthday dinner earlier this year we made salmon rilletes and most recently, in an attempt to counter-balance all the recipe testing we’ve been doing for the book, I made Gabe and I a light dinner of poached salmon with an herby and lightly spiced cucumber salsa.

The salmon lapped up a bit of Pernod then sat in a warm vegetable-laden bath until just cooked. While the salmon bathed I made quick work of the salsa throwing in a hefty bit of dill, just enough serrano to pop in some heat and plenty of lemon – zest and juice. The flesh of the fish bent under the amount of  salsa I piled on top. If I couldn’t see there was fish under the cucumber maybe I’d forget I was eating it.

But you know I actually enjoyed it. Maybe it was mostly for the satisfaction of knowing I was eating something so vibrant and healthy –  I could practically feel the Omega 3’s reinvigorating me or perhaps I felt that Seattle was cheering me on with each bite. Or more likely it was because it was quite good – tender and lightly herbal fish that made the perfect canvas for a bright salsa or salad of sorts. The plate was nearly cleaned. Just a few more encounters with salmon then I’d say I’m hooked (fish pun embarrassingly intended).

Poached Salmon with Cucumber Salsa

The poaching was inspired by the first part of this Salmon Rillettes recipe (which is excellent by the way) and the cucumber salsa was inspired by Bon Appetit.

This recipe is very adaptable. Whatever vegetable scraps you have can be used to fragrant the broth and the Pernod isn’t absolutely necessary. In fact you could just scrap the poaching all together as a grilled pice of salmon would be quite perfect with the salsa – that’s my next version of step 2. 

Add a bit of tangy yogurt to the salsa to make a creamy dip reminiscent of tzatziki.

Serves 2

2 salmon fillets

1-2 tablespoons Pernod

salt & pepper

Season the fish with the Pernod and salt and pepper. Let the fish sit for 30 minutes while you make the poaching liquid.

Poaching liquid:

2 celery stalks, halved

1 medium onion, quartered

1 scallion

1 teaspoon salt

1 bay leaf

1 tablespoon juniper

a handful of dill

1 cup white wine

4 cups water

Bring all of the ingredients to a gentle boil in a large saucepan and simmer for 25 minutes.

Remove the pan from the heat and slide the fish into the hot liquid. Cover the pot and let sit for 10 minutes.

Remove the fish and check to make sure the fish is cooked through. The flesh should flake and look opaque throughout.

Serve the fish warm with cucumber salsa.

Cucumber Salsa

1 cucumber, peeled and small diced

2 tablespoons finely chopped dill

1-2 tablespoons finely minced shallot

1 teaspoon lemon juice

1/2 teaspoon lemon zest

1 serrano chili, seed and finely diced

2 tablespoons olive oil

Salt and pepper

Combine everything in a bowl. Taste and adjust seasonings to your liking.

The salsa will keep for a couple of days in the fridge although it may become a bit more wet because of the salt in the recipe.

“Roman, tomorrow is your birthday. We can do anything you want. We can go get ice cream? I can make you a special dinner? Anything.” Roman sat there thinking while I bombarded him with questions marveling that I was about to watch my number two turn 5.

“I want a chocolate cake and I want it to say, ‘Baron, Roman love Mama’ and have the Lone Ranger with a gun, kicking his leg like this.” He proceeded to show me exactly what he wanted the Lone Ranger to be doing by shaping his lego Lone Ranger into the perfect position.

Chocolate cake it is. I’ll worry about the details later.

In the morning, Roman chose Fruity Pebbles from the store as it’s tradition in our house that the birthday child gets to choose any kind of cereal, even the sugary, unnaturally bright colored types that we never keep in the house unless it’s someone’s birthday. This tradition continues from my husband’s childhood and it’s one we all love and benefit from. Because yes, I totally indulged in a bowl of crackly, sort of fruit flavored pebbles that morning and also, I stole a few bits of the shells mac & cheese that the birthday boy requested for dinner. You know, the boxed kind with the fluorescent cheese powder. That box exists in our house too. And each time I rip into that box I feel a little guilty. The same guilt that I feel when I walk out the front door and my daughter says, “I want you to stay and snuggle with me.” It’s the “am I reading too little to them? Should they be taking more vitamins? I should have scratched their backs longer last night. Why did I say that and in THAT tone?” It’s that sort of guilt that piles on my shoulders weighing me down and whispering thoughts of inadequacy all throughout the day. This guilt that builds my defense before I need to defend a thing. This shame that makes me feel unworthy, unloved and constantly attacked even by my sweet children.

Lately I’ve become fed up with those feelings. What am I so afraid of that I’d burden myself with all this guilt? That my children won’t feel loved enough? Impossible. If it were attainable and if it’d prove anything to them I’d run to the moon and back for my kids. I have no question of my love for them so why then do I assume they will question it? If I’m operating out of that never ending source of love for them then they will feel loved by me, even if they want me to read another book, or scratch their backs longer or wish that I could stay home and snuggle all day.

That’s now where I’m trying to parent from – knowing full well that I love them completely. When they aren’t completely satisfied I remind them of my love, remind them that I’m human, apologize when I’ve been selfish, and walk confidently in my love for them. Because when I’m confident in that love then they are too.

And if I they ever need a reminder of my love for them I’ll tell them about their 7th and 5th birthday parties when we played games for hours under neon lights, surrounded by dozens of candy-crazed kids running around and ate fabricated pizza at Chuck E. Cheese. That’s right. We partied with Chuck E. and I got to say it was so nice walking away and not having to worry about clean up. Initially I felt guilty for going along with this plan. I’m the mom who throws epic lego/pirate parties and THEY want Chuck E. Cheese. But I love them and they loved the party.

I did, however, bring in my own cake because I draw the line somewhere. It was the same one that Roman requested on his actual birthday. The same one that I had made four times in three weeks during “the great birthday season of 2013” which brings about one cake after the other. It’s this simple chocolate cake with a tangy and bittersweet chocolate frosting, in particular, and it is always in the mood to celebrate.

This cake has been on the blog before but I really do think it’s worth mentioning again. For one thing it’s made all in one bowl, for another all the ingredients are pantry staples and finally, and most importantly, the flavor is richly chocolate, the texture is soft and springy and strong enough to hold the frosting which is loaded with bittersweet chocolate and sour cream. Although the texture and flavor of the cake really improves after a day’s rest, it can, if need be, be made and frosted in a matter of a couple hours when the birthday boy wants chocolate cake even though the to do list doesn’t allow for much room in the day, you make it happen. Not because you feel obligated too or would feel guilty if you didn’t but because you love him and that’s enough.

Our Birthday Season Cake

This cake has been called “magic cake” and “dump and stir cake” which is how Regan Daley in “In the Sweet Kitchen” refers to it. Since discovering this recipe it’s been my go-to chocolate cake. I used it often when I made wedding cakes for a living. I only deviate to another recipe on occasion when I’m lured in by the addition sour cream or buttermilk in the batter but this simple recipe never fails. It’s a wonderful tasting cake that just so happens to be vegan and doesn’t have you messing with melting chocolate. It also makes fantastic cupcakes.

makes 3 8” inch layers or 24 cupcakes

3 cups all-purpose flour

2 cups sugar (I’ve used white or brown or a combination of the two and all work well)

1/2 cup unsweetened cocoa powder

2 teaspoons baking soda

1 teaspoon kosher salt

3/4 cup vegetable oil (or other, nearly flavorless oil)

2 tablespoons white vinegar

2 teaspoons vanilla

1 cup coffee (you can use instant espresso granules instead, 1 tablespoon)

1 cup water

Prepare three  8 inch cake pans with butter and parchment on the bottom.

Preheat your oven to 350 degrees F.

Whisk together the dry ingredients in a large bowl until everything is well blended.

Add the wet ingredients and whisk to combine. Evenly divide the batter between the three pans and bake until the top springs back gently when pushed, 20-25 minutes.

After 5 minutes out of the oven, cool the cakes on a wire rack before frosting.

Chocolate Sour Cream Frosting

Essentially we’re making a ganache frosting but instead of cream we’re using sour cream so we’ll get a thick, creamy and tangy frosting which quite beautifully pairs with bittersweet chocolate. 

4 cups /1 lb 6 ounces chopped, bittersweet chocolate

2 1/2 cups / 1 lb 6 ounces sour cream

1 cup powdered sugar

1/4 teaspoon kosher salt

Melt the chocolate in a bowl set over a large pot of simmering water. Once completely melted turn off the heat but keep the bowl over the pot of water. Stir in the sour cream until well combined. If some of the chocolate firms up, turn the heat back on to melt through. Stir until everything is well mixed and no little clumps remain.

Carefully stir in the powdered sugar and salt. Taste and adjust to your preference. It is a very tangy frosting but if you’d prefer less tang you can add a bit more sugar.

Let the frosting sit off the heat until you can easily spread it on the cake layers, for an hour or so.

Assembling the cake

Sometimes if I’m feeling up to it I’ll put a layer of jam on the cakes or a flavored simple syrup (whiskey is nice here). Simply brush the layers with the syrup or jam just to moisten and then proceed to frost.

To keep clean up easier, I put down layers of parchment to cover the cake plate, then I slide them out when I’ve finished frosting to reveal a clean plate. Because this cake is so moist, sometimes the bottom layer sticks to the parchment so I’d recommend buttering or spraying the parchment to prevent sticking.

Due to the frantic state in which I was baking the cake the layers turned out very uneven. I didn’t want to bother with trimming the layers (I get very lazy in my cake baking) so I used the frosting to help even out the layers.

Start with one layer of cake and put about 1 cup of frosting in the middle. Spread around the first layer and push any excess frosting to the sides of the cake.

Top with an additional layer and repeat the process. Take a step back to see how straight the cake is and adjust if need be.

Finish with the final cake layer. Put a large amount of frosting on the top and push the excess over the sides and frost the sides.

In leu of a crumb coat I just usually put a thick amount of frosting on to hide any crumbs. But if you’d like you could cover the cake in a light layer of frosting, which glues the crumbs to the cake, then refrigerate and frost with an additional layer of frosting once the first layer has set.

Don’t forget to top the cake with the Lone Ranger as I did.

Remember that time a few weeks ago when I promised bacon? You thought I lied didn’t you? Well, I didn’t because today is the day. Let’s just go ahead and call it bacon day because not only do I have two great recipes (a goat cheese and bacon pasta and red onion and bacon jam) but there’s a video that my brother created about bacon and me.

The video was created alongside a great local company, Hempler’s and sort of shows a bit of a day in my life. I’m a leeeettle embarrassed but more than that I am excited to finally be able show it to you all and also point you towards this great company. (Check out the site – my other brother developed it – it’s a family affair).

Fettuccine with Goat Cheese, Leeks and Bacon

This dish is typical of our weeknight food. It comes together quickly, is based off our pantry staples and the kids don’t complain too much about a creamy pasta with bacon. This recipe is very basic so feel free to adapt to suite your needs. Once the kids have been served I like to sprinkle my serving with chili flakes.

8 slices of bacon roughly chopped

2 medium leeks

½ cup (4 ounces) goat cheese (chevre)

2 teaspoons chopped fresh thyme

1 pound fettuccine

grated Parmesan and fresh parsley for finishing

Cook the pasta then drain reserving some of the pasta water. Add the pasta to a large bowl.

In a large saute pan cook the bacon until crisp. Slice the white part of the leeks and add to the bacon. Cook until leeks are tender, about 5-7 minutes. Remove from the heat then stir in the thyme and goat cheese.

Combine the bacon and goat cheese mixture with the pasta. Add pasta water as needed to make a creamy sauce. Finish with grated Parmesan and chopped parsley. Serve hot.

Red Onion and Bacon Jam

I realize bacon jam was SO 2011 but let’s face it, it’s friggin’ good which also makes it SO 2013 or any year for that matter. Of course it makes a perfect burger accessory but this onion-heavy and deeply tangy version loves a breakfast sandwich or simple baked potatoes.

1 pound bacon, roughly chopped

3 medium red onions, sliced

½ cup brewed coffee

½ teaspoon red pepper flakes

¼ cup maple syrup

¼ cup brown sugar

½ cup apple cider vinegar

¼ teaspoon nutmeg

1 teaspoon chopped fresh thyme

salt

In a large skillet cook the bacon until crisp. Add the onions and cook until soft, about 5 minutes. Add the remaining ingredients and bring to a boil. Reduce the heat and simmer until the liquid is syrupy and reduced, this should take about an hour depending on the size pan you use. Stir occasionally while the jam is simmering. Once syrupy and thick taste and season as desired.

Once cooled place jam in an airtight container. Refrigerated the jam will keep for 1 week.

This jam is amazing on burgers, toast topped with a fried egg, baked potatoes, stirred into sour cream and/or cream cheese for a dip.

*The content for this project was created for Hempler’s by my brothers and myself. Our parents are proud.

It’s not out of life’s character to move quickly, to come and go while often leaving a path of destruction not unlike the upended houses and thrown cars that get in the way of a tornado. Right now emails are coming in faster than I can respond to, we’re signing my little girl (my baby!!) up for preschool, I’m tripping over clean clothes spilling out of the confines of the basket and the dishwasher is loaded and unloaded more times that I can count in a day.

“In our next house I think we need a bigger dishwasher.” Gabe said while unloading yet another round. We’re both trying to seek some sort of sense in a season that has us both gasping for air.

These things happen. I’ve seen seasons come and go numerous times, particularly while being a parent. Just when you think you have a schedule figured out – baby is sleeping through the night, we’re getting three healthy meals on the table a day and we’re able to rest at the end of day – then suddenly something shifts and the new schedule that we took great pride in is pointless. Then in struts a new season without warning.

In our house we’re experiencing some shifting, a new busy season, and it’s provoked many moments of Gabe and I sitting on the couch staring blankly at the google calendar trying to make sense of the week. Nothing about these changes are bad – it’s multiple birthdays that call for multiple parties, book writing, new job opportunities, the start of wedding season, travel – but it’s enough to fill up the moments in our day and have us needing to seek out our priorities that don’t always get a time slot on the calendar.

The to-do list was growing by the minute last week and the 50 unread emails in my inbox were taunting me with their bold type but I knew we needed dinner. The sort that has food setting on multiple platters along the table. The kind of dinner that we ask the kids to set the table, with napkins even. They may be paper but even so a folded paper napkin with a fork and knife resting next to its crease somehow elevates the meal beyond the harried throw something on a plate because the kids are hangry dinners. Those happen too. But this time I was seeking the sort of dinner where we sit around the table and linger until the conversation dwindles and even then Gabe and I stick around for awhile while the kids carry their plates, with much of dinner still on it, into the kitchen then run off to play.

It seemed such a simple thing, in fact it was. Dinner was little more than braised chicken thighs with a bright white bean salad speckled with fresh mint, salty feta and peas that burst with spring. But sitting down to dinner reminded me that in the midst of chaos and new seasons it is vital that we stick to the routines that bind us.

It’s for this reason that our date nights are scheduled. If they weren’t their absence would go unnoticed until Gabe and I realize that something isn’t right in our marriage. These weekly nights that breed connection are like our preventative medicine – as exercise builds a strong body better ready to fight when sickness comes – our marriage is the stronger for our weekly dating exercise over a sprightly cocktail and satisfying meal.

The same is true for family dinner. I don’t want to communicate to our kids that we only have a nice meal together when there’s time. No, we make the time for it. And while I know the reality is that some nights we just can’t all linger at the table together, it’s important for our family that it’s most nights.
As we sat around the table over dinner I remembered the days when I longed for family dinners around the table. Baron used to sit in a little seat with an attached tray on the floor in our kitchen as he mumbled his way through black beans and purees of all kinds. Then when he was finally able to sit at the table with us for dinner, Roman had his turn in the little chair. We’d just sit down to dinner when suddenly Roman would start to cry and moan and demand something other than the mashed banana I was feeding him. I would leave the table with Roman while Gabe and Baron enjoyed dinner.

“When will we ever be able to eat as a family?” I lamented longing for those idillic dinners that I so eagerly wanted with our growing family.

Then came Ivy and again our meal time was split between a preschooler eager to talk about his day, a potty training and not eager to sit still toddler and a baby who didn’t want to sit on the sidelines or sit (unless in someone’s arms) in general. During those days it felt like dinner would never happen around the table. We ate in shifts and in between messes.

And then it happened, really without me even noticing. Sometime last year we were all sitting around the table.

“How was your day?” I asked Baron excited to hear about his day at school while at the same time remembering how often I was asked that question at the dinner table.

His generic response was the same as mine often was, “good”. Soon the conversation expanded beyond one word answers and we’d have to remind the kids to actually eat their food in between sentences.

Even still our dinners rarely last longer than 10 minutes, are often met with moans from all the green stuff I’m serving and much of the time is spent cleaning up spilled milk and sticky fingers. But it’s happening. We’re around the table most nights creating the habit and building the ritual. If we don’t build that into our schedule, regardless of the season we’ll one day realize that our opportunities for those dinners have passed. How terribly cliche of me but I’ve come to realize a new cliche – the cliches are true (and now I shall not say that word again because I really don’t like it).

While the romantic in me doesn’t like the need for “scheduling” time together – whether it’s date night or family dinners – the practical side of me, albeit however small that part is, realizes that in order for these times of connection to happen they need to be scheduled. The importance of those times outweighs my disdain of scheduling.

White Bean Salad with Peas and Mint
serves 4 as a side

1 15 oz can or 1 1/2 cups white beans, drained and rinsed
1 cup peas (fresh or frozen)
1/2 cup chopped fresh mint
1 scallion, thinly sliced
1 teaspoon ground coriander
zest and juice from half a lemon
1/2 cup crumbled feta
olive oil
salt and pepper

Combine everything in a bowl. Add just enough olive oil to coat and season with salt and pepper, lots of pepper, to taste.
If you are making this ahead combine everything except the mint as fresh mint tends to wilt and turn black once cut. Stir in the mint just before serving.
I like this with a bit of bread for a light lunch or served alongside chicken as a main course. Makes a great, easy picnic side dish.

*This post was inspired by the new book from Gluten-Free Girl and the Chef, called Gluten-Free Girl Every Day. It’s simple weeknight cooking centered around the family and dinner together. The recipes are simple yet creative and enticing. I can not wait to try the zuchini noodles with pesto.

*Recently I did an interview with Saveur. Check it out their site. And while you’re clicking around hop over to Bon Appetit where I took their new grilling book for a spin. *Spoiler* I LOVED it.