Meet The Team / Sarah Gilbert
Sarah has always been an overachiever; she had to walk sooner, suck her pacifier harder, and like coffee better than any other little girl. She's trying like everything to avoid bringing her competitive spirit into parenting. Which is so hard. She lives in Portland, Ore. in partially-renovated 1912 house with her sons Everett (born 2002) and Truman (born 2005) and her Army Reservist hubby, who could leave her at any moment (ack!). Now she's given up her once-promising investment banking career (which, let's face it, really cut into precious baking time) and dedicated her life to blogging, cooking and photographing the heck out of her children and everything she eats.
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Yesterday, one of its members, Lori, gathered some eggs from her Ameraucana, and boiled them up for breakfast. Imagine her surprise when she peeled one that had cracked in the pan -- the perfect image of the Virgin Mary!
Lori's trying to figure out if she can preserve the egg. In the meantime, let us know what you think: is God once again speaking to us from our food? And is he reminding us how we should all treat our chickens better? I think so.
[Larger version of photo after the jump.]
In the Pacific Northwest, there's a place called Burgerville. The beef is always free-range and the salads always sport local hazelnuts. But nothing compares to you, seasonal fresh strawberry milkshake. And nothing says summer is coming! like a strawberry milkshake sparkling, dripping in the sunlight as you pull away from the drivethrough. Ahhhh ... life is good here in Portland.
[Photo Sarah Gilbert]
I think this package says it all. I picked up a pound of maple sausage, the delectable links that my family has always called "breakfast sausage" without allowing a title to limit our consumption. No, we eat it from dawn 'til dusk, despite its moniker.
Evidently, Fred Meyer (our local grocery and part of the Kroger gi-nomerate) is worried that the name "breakfast sausage" will limit more conservative families to (horrors!) eat it only during breakfast. They've changed the label so it reads, "maple flavored sausage" and "delicious anytime!"
Thank you, Fred Meyer, for freeing us -- and our sausages -- from the shackles of breakfast.
I'm a coffee aficionado (or as they might say it in Panama, aficionado de café), but I'm also on a budget. And although I'd love to drink nothing but that lyrical Stumptown Sidamo or the deep, dark, delicious Thundermuck, well, $10 a pound is a but much for every day.
Thus I was delighted to see a new 12-ounce can of coffee for only $3.99 at Trader Joe's last week: Panama Café Duran. My little sister Jenny lives in Panama and I've drunk Duran before; it's the everyday coffee found in every Panamanian supermarket. I know it's decent, and in the hands of Trader Joe's it is fresh, balanced, and just dark enough to satisfy that part of me that longs for those polished mucky beans so revered here in Portland.
Yesterday I picked up another can and as I was reaching for it another woman was looking at the green-and-yellow can, considering. "It's good!" I said, "and cheap!" I know you're going to be in Trader Joe's, and you'll be wondering, too. Go for it.
Color me wowed. I can't get enough of this stuff. It tastes like berries. No lie. And I'm sure you're thinking, coffee that tastes like berries? I totally passed that raspberry-flavored stuff up in the coffee aisle at my grocery store. But this is more a terroir thing (do they call it terroir in coffee?). The coffee beans, they're not that different from grapes, after all. Roasting brings out these amazingly complex and, yes, fruity flavors. According to the roaster, Stumptown Coffee, "The cup is Neopolitan ice cream... Intense chocolate, strawberry and creamy vanilla flavors in every sip." Plus it's organic and fair-trade and ohmigod I am so in love with this coffee. I wish I could give you a taste, you'd never be the same.