When you combine a pillowy-soft, sweet yeast roll base with tangy cream cheese and a decadent, crumbly salted pecan streusel, there’s really not a lot left to say. This is one of those one-bite-equals-a-thousand-words scenarios. So we’ll leave all further tantalizing description at: “one more slice, please.”
Many mischievous nights ago, Mark and I discovered that the best seat in almost any restaurant is the one bellied up to the bar. Most of the time there is little to no wait to snag a stool, and once there you get to sample the kitchen’s talent served up on small plates (and usually at a much more accommodating price than a full dinner). The big bonus is the direct access to that trove of information and skill: the bartender. Ask one for guidance, and you will rarely be disappointed in your selection, or – if they really seem to have the chops – just tell them your favorite spirit and watch them craft you something special.
Hallelujah! The dulcet sounds of football are stampeding around our house once again. Bookbag-laden kids crowd the sidewalks in the morning, and the calendar has decreed that I put away my whites.
But it seems, at least in our little corner of the world, that summer is not prepared to pass off the baton just yet. The mercury is still hitting “Ridiculous” here and I am not quite ready for steaming bowls of chili, warm bulky hoodies, or any kind of gourd – spiced or otherwise.