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Category: Phat Life

Mel’s Motherfuckin’ cook book: Stroganoff

I am a selective carnivore. That’s right. I only eat the animals I like, such as chicken, fish, cute baby lambs and occaionally pigs. Generally I cannot stand beef meat, but I like the flavor of beef. So what to do when I want Beef stroganoff without the beef but still have the chest-hair-curling flavor of delicious cow? Ground turkey my friends. Yes. You heard me. Ground turkey picks up the beef flavor fantastically and is meat. So win-win all around. I made a remark on my twitter a couple of days ago as to how beef broth and the…

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Do you know what grows Under the Stairs?

Despite what people tell me, I don’t feel like a writer. There are stories in me that muck about swirling and whirling and flicking their tails at me from the surface of my mind-water. But they’re awfully fickle. Hard to grab onto. Most often when I think I have a story to tell something in my life pulls me away from it–either my own self-doubt or something else shiny that is far easier than writing. (I’m sorry, but writing is hard. Please ask all the very talented writers who force themselves to do it everyday because they have too or…

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I will come to your house and fondle your mugs.

Last year on my live journal, I wrote a post about my growing obsession with tea cups and mugs. I’m one of those women that will turn her head nearly all the way around in the glass or kitchen ware aisles at stores–like men spotting a set of endless, toned, shimmery legs they just need to look at twice–if I find a mug or cup that tickles my fancy.  My cupboard in our modest little apartment has an entire shelf dedicated to mugs already. I definitely have more than one, less than twenty; so more than I need. And yet…I…

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Letting go of perfect.

My first home happens to be a one bedroom apartment. For Shawn and I, we who have children that are feathered and furred instead of human–this fits us perfectly. For the longest time, with our bad financial decisions when we first got together + the way the economy was going, I dreaded that we would become one of those couples. Stuck forever living in a room within his parents house feeling ridiculously uncomfortable for living in a home where two people should not be having to live with their son and his wife at this age and please put some…

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Making new Christmas Magic from the Old.

When I was a little girl, bright eyed and possibly more hyper-active as well as touch more naive than I am now, Christmas Eve and Christmas day was always spent at my grandmothers. My grandmother lived in a farmhouse that was at least more than a century old. Two stories tall, it was a proper square of a house. It had a pitch roof and it did not have plastic siding anywhere on it. It was covered in wooden shingles painted bright white. It weathered Nova Scotia’s winters as stoically as it waited through the yellow warmth of its summer.…

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With great bread there must also come–great nomability.

It’s dangerous knowing how to make great homemade bread. At first, it doesn’t seem like it. You fail a few times and chew stoically on your fifty pound loaf that should have come out light and fluffy because damn it, you MADE this and you’re gonna EAT it and pretend to ENJOY it because it took you HOURS to make it. You think back on everything everyone has told you about bread, with their sneering Bread Overlord smug smiles and advice such as: oh, you’ll know when it’s right. You’ll FEEEEEEEEELLLLL it. Then they secretly bro-fist one another behind your back…

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Cucumbers: instruments of childhood memories.

Mid July in Nova Scotia. My grandmother’s century and a bit more home, painted white wooden siding freshly cleaned by rain from the day before. It might reach 85 at it’s hottest in summer there. Years later while I am old and cantankerous, living in Florida I’ll mock myself for thinking it was hot. For now, for us in that moment and time it was pretty warm. My grandmother’s kitchen was the focal point for her entire house. Sure, you stepped into a front porch so you could take your coat or your shoes (in this case, usually sandals, flip…

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