The Night the Northern Lights Came to North Georgia
On the night of October 10, 2024, the northern lights reached north Georgia. I put the top down, drove north, and watched the sky turn red from the side of the highway.
On the night of October 10, 2024, the northern lights reached north Georgia. I put the top down, drove north, and watched the sky turn red from the side of the highway.
The ground has its own residents, and most of them don’t want to be seen: deer, box turtles, skinks, rat snakes, a mole I know only by his tunnels, and otters I’ve never laid eyes on.
Saybrook Sage on the powder room walls, the first report from the meat-minimalized week, still no saffron, and a weekend in the north Georgia mountains.
Almost every meal here starts with onions and garlic, so I mince a whole bag once a month and freeze it flat. Here’s how to freeze garlic, and when I don’t.
Chicken in Thai peanut sauce: seared chicken in a glossy coconut-peanut sauce over jasmine rice. An easy weeknight throwback from the Daring Cooks days.
A late roundup: the Halloween boxes come home, collards peek through, the Joro spiders take the back yard, Nigella joins the Bake Off tent, and a meat-minimalized week on deck.
Most people wait all year for summer. I wait for October through January: the oven back on, Halloween, nine pies, latkes, Christmas lights, and a table full of people against the dark.
What my kitchen actually looks like mid-project: how I stage a batch-cooking day, the clean-as-you-go deal with Zach, and the someday list for the Creek House kitchen.
Sharon’s chili con carne, with beans: browned beef, a spice ball of bay and allspice, and the Tejana Chili Queens history behind the bowl. Football food.
A late roundup: WordPress gremlins, the first real fall mornings, a seafood feast where all sixty oysters vanished, saffron crocus in the ground, and the first pot roast of the season.
Burger night at our house isn’t a recipe, it’s a routine: Zach lights the kamado, I press the patties, and everybody builds their own at the counter.
My overnight oven chicken stock: one big pot, a 210°F oven, and a night’s sleep. Eight to ten quarts of clear, gelled stock to see you through the holidays.