THE PROBLEM WITH AN ANTIPASTO THAT TASTES THIS GOOD, IS…
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As I have some life to deal with today, I’m going to quickly leave you with’mmm… more of an idea than a recipe per se. Three years ago during our fascinating trip to Istanbul, as any cool-faced tourists with telling peek-ish eyes, we sat at nearly every meal scratching our cameras and baffled – what’s up with the plate of melons at everyone’s table, and more importantly, where’s mine?
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Sometimes I get a little personal when I take a stroll through the expansive, razzle-dazzling and star-crusted cosmic jungle that is food-blogosphere. I really don’t mean to compare I really don’t. Wise man once said that… “Go… just do your own things” or something… you know but put in a MUCH more profound and scholarly terms. But the thing is (and it’s a big thing) that I can’t help but feeling like Gimli the dwarf when self-put besides the others, whom I’d like to call the blogger-elves of the Woodland Realm (birds chirping pls) because I mean really, just REALLY, do people SERIOUSLY live like that? Prancing with in-season-only, tree-ripen fruits and vegetables galore by the farm-stands and POOF! an effortless display of fairy-salad and angel-tarts on a oh-my-granny-just-left-me-this antique table. Or picking WILD FLOWERS in pastel tea-dresses surrounded by rainbow and songs and THAT’S what she EATS on weekends!? For REALZ? I bet their body parts self-shave, too…
Yeah. I’m jealous.
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