Smokey Corn and Sweet Crab Soup

For as long as I can remember, pasta has always been my favorite food. Spaghetti with tomato sauce, pasta salad, macaroni and cheese — if there’s pasta in it, I love it.

But what does that have to do with this soup? Well, after I noticed snow crab was on sale, I brought home a pound intended for the soup. But while standing at my kitchen counter, shelling the crab, sneaking bites here and there, I had to admit that crab legs are actually the best thing in the entire world. Sorry, noodles, you’ve been knocked down a peg.

 

 

Strawberry Beer Cocktail

Today is sad because there are so many clever, delicious things I could say about this strawberry-beer cocktail. Like how it’s ridiculously amazing. Like how serving it in mason jars makes it 10 times more amazing. Like how it packs a punch that you don’t even see coming.

Shrimp and Mango Pasta Salad

When I first came up with this recipe a year ago for a friend’s bridal shower, I called it “Caribbean Shrimp Pasta Salad.” After actually traveling to the Caribbean and realizing that these flavors aren’t really Caribbean-influenced, I decided to go ahead and give it a new moniker that’s a much more apt-description. If you’re looking for a pasta salad recipe sans mayonnaise for a barbecue this summer, try this one out.

Roasted Jicama

Sometimes I go a little crazy at the grocery store and pick up a fruit or vegetable that I have no idea what to do with. Admittedly, I’ve been doing this so long that there aren’t many produce items left that I’m not familiar with, but I recently came across one: Jicama.

 

Strawberry Mille-feuille // The One Where Crouton ISN’T a Lady

Crouton is a barrel of contradictions. When she sits nicely like a cat should, she crosses her paws like a lady might. But when it’s hot outside or she’s gotten comfortable, we’re much more likely to see this unlady-like pose:

Creamy Chicken and Mushroom Pasta // The One Where Crouton Actually Loves Us

As indicated by my last (somewhat brief) post, David and I spent a week in Ocho Rios, Jamaica, celebrating our one-year anniversary. We left Crouton at home, cared for by our neighbor’s teenage daughter. We came home really late Saturday night (or is that really early Sunday morning) and walked into the house, noticing errant cat toys on the living room floor. We stared.

“Did she actually try to PLAY with Crouton?” David asked. Sure seemed like it. That’s probably something we should have included on the instructions sheet — play with cat at your own risk.

As far as we know, the 14-year-old only walked away with minor scratches. And that night we came home, Crouton actually showed affection. The type of affection only reserved for when she actually thought we had abandoned her, and what would she do if she couldn’t get her dry food refilled at any time she desired? (We really need to cut back on that.)