It’s been nonstop nesting since January 2009. When work doesn’t get in the way, I bake. Then bake some more. Then maybe make dinner. And bake again. I will talk about all of this earth-shattering stuff here, on my blog, a diary of sorts giving voice to my Vermont life, scraps and all. If you like to bake, if you like to cook, if you like to eat, if you like snow (or majestic green mountains … or golden fall foliage), if you like tales of folks blindly starting over in life in their 30s, I hope you will stick around and let me know what you think, what you bake, what you cook for those you love, what model shovel you have. I really want to know.
Think leftovers; the yummy gunge on the bottom of the pan; the stuff that insists on sticking around; the scribblings of loved ones, faded and worn thin (the scribblings, not the loved ones); recipes from your mom and your grandma, written decades ago and bearing the stains of their culinary creations. They are all scraps. And I love them.
When not consuming scraps, contriving to get more scraps, writing and reading scraps, I go about my business in the great state of Vermont. The wood stove never catches a break.
By the way, some of the scraps, AKA my recipes, are inherited, some original, some adapted from the bajillions out there.