Frozen cocktails aren’t really my thing. I save my frozen tendencies drinkable with a straw for milkshakes and smoothies.
My idea of a great margarita is to make it strong and put it on the rocks.
That is, until, it’s a Mango Margarita. Then I say make it fruity, a bit limey and add some spice and bring me another.
The first time I had a mango margarita was on a Mexican vacation in the small beach town of Todos Santos (if you haven’t been, you HAVE to go) with my little family of three and my BFF Kim and her husband. We’d rented our other friend’s vacation house (see it here) where we blew up the pool toys and made the very necessary trip to the Mexican market to stock up on essentials: Chips and salsa, Mexican pancake mix (loaded with sugar and insanely delicious,) Nutella, mangos, lime and tequila.
While most any other time of the year I lean more toward get togethers via BBQs and dinner parties, sometime between Easter and Mother’s Day my cravings for celebrating with brunch hit an all-time high.
Family and food. They go together like butter and biscuits. It’s what every foundation of every civilization is built upon. To sit down to a meal, with forks in position and a wealth of new and old stories to tell.
I too often forget how much I love these simple dinners with the whole gaggle of extended family about. I have to remind myself it really isn’t that hard to send a text, give a call and have someone bring the salsa and chips, someone else grab a dessert.
Because we all want to be involved. It’s half the fun. Especially when everyone else digs in and starts doing the dishes. Best part ever.
So to prep for Cinco de Mayo and test out some new recipes on our loved ones aka guinea pigs, my man and I sent out the call and the flock arrived, ready to chow down on some scrumptious eats.
Basically I was just itching for an excuse to make these Spicy Fish Tacos.
Good news everyone! They received a table-full of hearty thumbs ups.
TGIF and how-did-that-week-go-by-so-fast. Has it really been 5 whole days since we were all talking about peeling Easter eggs and 4 days since we were trying to figure out how to use them all?
Last weekend my man left me and Smudge to our own devices to celebrate Easter while he traipsed to Denver, CO for a Drive By Truckers show. That’s where they “rock out” and do a lot of finger pointing at the stage. As in, “You ROCK man (insert pointed finger at stage here.”)
Given the latest laws that have been passed there, and the fact he was there on 4/20, he said he spent most of the weekend enveloped in a second hand fog.
Oh Denver. You rebels.
With a history of me taking things into my own hands and sort of going off the rails when he jets off to see a band, this time around I didn’t go out and buy a way too expensive vacuum cleaner like I have in the past.
Nor did I create a new home improvement project. To be abandoned in frustration and left for him to figure out—and fix—once he returned. Okay, I did rearrange the living room furniture…
And he didn’t come home to a brand new foster dog like that time he went and saw U2 in Portland. Lenny, the dog that started my 10 year-obsessed-involvement with this animal rescue and literally over 50 foster dogs crossing our doorstep for a stay.
What can I say? I love the poochers.
This time around I splurged on self improvement. A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do!
Today, you almost had me at quinoa. Or rather a twist on quinoa salad of a favorite ethnic variety. A recipe I’ve been craving, with bright flavors, creating lighter lunchtime fare. But then…this happened: Berry Tart With Lemon Curd Mascarpone.
Don’t be ashamed, be real. It’s okay you too like these berries more than quinoa. Even when you’re secretly giving me fist pumps and high fives. Even when your conscience is chanting, “Quinoa! Quinoa! Quinwwwwwaaaa!!!!!!”
My little Meyer lemon bushes have been wintering indoors like retired Upper East siders who call the southern beaches of Boca Raton their snowbirding home.
So there I was with hands on hips, staring these little bushes down as I pondered whether it was time yet to subject them to the harsh reality of the wild outdoors where they belong. Like swallows heading back to Capistrano, is it time for my two little lemons that bloomed over the winter to face the outdoor elements?
What? And leave their personal furnace vent and sunny west side disposition? Or would that be west side exposure? Just so long as it’s the good side of the west side we have a deal. Wazzup Westsiiiiiide?
Gosh, that makes me almost want to come back one day as a lemon tree. But only if you’ll call me Ms. Meyer.