Top: Our favorite just-throw-in-a-bowl dessert dressed up for Mothers Day. Mascarpone cheese, honey, strawberries with a meringue cloud. This was not the best photo, but since Harold's sneaky nose made a cameo I couldn't resist. Bottom: Kurt made "Meat Candy." Method: Stuff tiny slices of manchego into pitted dates and wrap with bacon. Roast at 350 degrees for 15-20 minutes until browned and crispy. Affix toothpicks/tiny cocktail swords. Serve to a group of friendly Danish dudes as they watch streaming Danish soccer in your living room. Revel in new friendships.
Morris' Liquor and Deli has the best little sandwich counter. Kurt took me there on Saturday and bought me a country ham sandwich on a croissant, salt and vinegar chips and a birch beer. We sat at one of the two tables, looked out the window, read the paper and chatted with our table-mates. People filtered in and out, some of whom we knew, some strangers.
Kurt does this thing. Whenever I ramble on about food, baking or Martha Stewart, he feigns a forced enthusiasm that I find both hilarious and irritating. For example, I'll spent hours in the kitchen trying to perfect a fancy French pastry recipe. After he tastes the results of my labor, he'll furrow his brow and say with a very straight face that it tastes JUST LIKE *trashy boxed convenience food/Little Debbie/vending machine doughnut*. He can't hold off grinning for long. He does this because he knows it really burns my ass and because it also makes me laugh. Again that dichotomy I've only experienced with my husband. Laughing + anger. He loves to see me like this. I can never stay mad because I'm trying hard not to laugh. Anyway, he's taken his show on the road. He made me these cartoons so that I can relive this routine while I'm at work: