Pages

Wednesday, March 25, 2015

One Year


One year ago, Harrison and I went on our first date. 

I had imagined what it would be like to spend an evening with the most genuine, interesting, adored-by-everyone, and seemingly unattainable man I had ever met. I dreamed for six months. He had asked me out nine days prior to our date, and the wait was finally over. 

When we spoke on the phone earlier that morning, all nerves left me. I was bubbling over with excitement! 

At 7pm, we were ready to go. I hardly remember eating my salmon at Boscos. We sat and talked for four hours in that restaurant, trying to play it cool and not revealing how elated we both were to be with each other. He "missed" the turn back to the Pace's house so we could have an extra three minutes together. 

Forty-five days later, I had a ring on my finger. Now, we are about celebrate six months of marriage. 

I never dreamed that I would ever love someone so much, and it's crazy to think about how much that love grows every day. 

So here's to the man who finishes my sentences, takes care of the two of us, is handy beyond belief, knows about everything, eats the good and bad food I make, and brightens my days. 

I'm still starry-eyed. 

Wednesday, March 26, 2014

Start at the Very Beginning


Plus ten points if you sang the title of this post in your head.

A long time ago, my mom suggested that I make manicotti. I didn't have much cooking experience at the time, but clueless as to what I was getting myself into, I agreed.  We went to Kroger and bought the box of pasta. Since we aren't Italian and don't have a family recipe, we read the ingredients and procedures list from the back of the blue Barilla box.

After unloading the groceries from the back of the car, my mom gave me the ingredients and told me to have at it.  I remember reading the instructions, boiling the pasta, mixing the cheeses, putting them into a large plastic bag with a hole cut in the corner, and layering each and every piece.  It probably took me two hours at least to finish, and the end result was much closer to lasagna than manicotti.  I overcooked my pasta, and they split down the middle.  I remember it was delicious.

I read this blog post about manicotti and the comforting effect that it has on the author. I was feeling nostalgic, so I decided I needed to make some for myself.  Like old times, it took way longer than it should have to finish it up, and my pasta ripped.  I don't really care though.  It makes me think of times gone past--where my love for food started to first develop.

My heart is so full right now.

Recipe from Yummy Books.

I cheated and used frozen spinach and jarred marinara.  It turns out wonderfully either way.