Each peanut M&M equals walking the length of one football field? Tell me it isn’t so!
My Smudge informed me of this random urban legend (?) after we brought home the remnants of a 5 lb. Costco bag from the cabin last weekend. It’s been sitting on the shelf in the kitchen. And you know what that means, because it’s sitting open. And every time one of us walks by, we dip our hot little hands into the bag to fish one (or half dozen) peanut M&Ms out of the bag. In fact, I had JUST peanut M&Ms for dinner one night. And no, I’m not kidding.
So this football thing? I had to look it up. And lo and behold, her useless (read: I’d rather ignore than admit) factoid is indeed true. In fact, the truth is even worse. Read about it here.
This weekend we’ll be heading to South Eastern Utah, to the land of prehistoric red rocks and aging punk rock bands for my husband’s reunion show. Rock on crouton!
Happy Friday everyone, and on to this week’s links…
But I’ve yet to share the number one potato salad that worms its way into nearly every BBQ, picnic or just good old fashioned supper at my house, the one I’m proud as punch to share when I go to other’s homes as well.
This classic potato salad is the one I grew up on. It’s the recipe my Grandma Mary Jane made, then passed onto my mom who made it to accompany every hamburger, grilled ribs or other summer deliciousness, and who then passed it onto me and my sister. It’s the recipe I spent many a summer afternoon making alongside my amazing mama, just like she did with hers. In fact, I’ve made it so many times I don’t even need the recipe. You know a recipe is that good when you know it by heart.
So, here’s how to make the best potato salad ever. Let’s get started…
Please, please, please! Say it ain’t so! But yes, it’s true, we’re headlong into the wind down of summer.
Sniffle here and sob there, I’m harboring some serious resentment at the fact that summer is quickly fading into fall. This is mostly due to the fact that in mid-July I broke my wrist and the elbow of my other arm (of which I’ve lamented about my gimpness on the blog and you’re sick of hearing about since it happened) and that the wrist required surgery to give me a fancy new metal plate and 10 screws surgically inserted into my limp old wrist. Yep, I’ll be the one setting off the alarms, bells and whistles at the airport security line.
It also turned most of my summer of bar-b-ques on the deck and hostessing of summer fun into a self-imposed 3 week marathon of feeling-sorry -for-myself-BRAVO-watching-reality-show-obsession because I couldn’t chop, cook or even pull my hair into a top knot. And if any of you know me in person, the top knot is what really put me under.
But, I gave myself ’til this week to finish my sulk and now I’m back at ‘em, working the wrist so it doesn’t turn into a stiff log of a limb and I even took off my bandages all by my-freak-out-at-any-medical-condition-that-may-result-in-blood-self. I was happy and surprised to see a completely healed 3-inch scar.
Friends, I’m back.
And it’s a good thing too, because yesterday, when Smudge asked me why we haven’t had any parties with and of our friends who are parents of her friends who we would usually have summertime parties with, I knew I wasn’t the only one feeling the lack of party pain. Remedy solved, we’re having a party tonight and putting our summer party slump to bed.
This recipe doesn’t require a party to make it special. In fact, if you’re in need of a fast dinner with minimal effort but big flavor, this chicken skewer recipe is a keeper.
Last weekend I spent some quality time with 14 of my college friends on a girl getaway to Las Vegas, eating jello shots, eating good food and dancing as only us girls can do to David & David, YAZ and Depeche Mode. Does that date me?
I met my husband working at a fancy, schmancy seafood restaurant.
It was a lovely setting for a beautiful romance that began with us racing from table to table, sweating it out in standard issue baby blue, long-sleeve, button down shirts that reeked of the deep fryer atop boring black pants with the wild flair of our own choice of windsor knotted ties as we stuffed our nightly wad of tips in our pockets. What individualists we were.
We both still have waiter nightmares about that place. Anxiety riddled nightmares where we can never get to our tables in time, our server trays never seem to empty, the cooks continue to yell and the customers begin to fume.
Hey wait, was that a nightmare or was it reality? Only the shadow knows…