It’s true. In my pursuit of autumnal photographs, I ended up in a never-ending gravel lot, the sounds of cars above me whizzing by over-head, with no road out in sight. Or humans, for that matter.
It was the kind of area that nightmares are made of. Or at least really bad horror flicks. Luckily my tatas were tucked safely away inside my dress and it was the middle of the day. Were it nighttime and I clad in a skimpy bikini, I’m convinced I would have ended up in pieces, tucked inside a duffel bag and hidden halfway under a pile of fallen leaves.
P.s. I don’t wear skimpy bikinis. Ever. No one wants to see that.
We’re at a funny time of year right now, aren’t we? While aimlessly (still understandably get-the-fuck-out-of-there minded) meandering the underpass the air still held the warmth of Summer yet at the same time, a distinct chill was blowing off the water. It’s not quite Summer, not quite Fall. I call it Sumall. Or Fammer.
The trees look like they’re in a struggle right now for the seasons too. While some are turning bright yellow and red, and leaves are crunching under-foot in the park, others are desperately holding on to the last heat of the Summer sun. Makes it difficult to take Fall photos for a blog post. Hence the underpass misdirection.
But it’s not just the weather. While at the Granville Island Market – after having just mowed the only thing a girl CAN mow while lunching on the dock – searching out some fresh sage and recovering from my almost-demise, I noticed somethin’ freakay!
…Mini-pumpkins cuddling up to juicy watermelons. Brilliant red strawberries mingling with the last of the figs. And grapes canoodling with stalks of asparagus. It was fruitfully bizarre. Almost the kind of thing horror stories are made of. You know, if it the horror story was that of the modern grocery store and year round produce availability.
Which is why I couldn’t believe my luck when I found 2 sugar-pie pumpkins in my CSA this week. 2! Astounded – and giddy beyond giddy – I set to work to bake a homemade scratch pumpkin pie for John and a pumpkin bruschetta to end all pumpkin bruschettas for me. It’s a recipe that’s been plaguing me obsessively for weeks.
Does that ever happen to you? Do you get an idea – a recipe, a story, a sex move – that inspires you beyond anything else and you can’t get it out of your head until you do it? John says I must have some kind of mental disorder. No argument there. But he thinks that my fixation on things must be a clinical issue. Between this recipe for pumpkin bruschetta,
So pumpkin bruschetta. Oh my god, yes. Smear with creamy fresh ricotta (I used buffalo), slowly oozed caramelized onions and a few flakes of crispy sage bits and you have yourself probably one of the most orgasmic, delicious, sultry, vegetarian friendly dishes you could ever hope for. I suggest eating them for breakfast, a quick lunch or a light dinner with a big fat glass of fruity, full bodied wine (or 3). If you have pancetta or bacon, crisp up and chuck some of that on there too. It isn’t vegetarian then, but it’d be damn good. And those of us who are omnivores can always appreciate the addition of good, pastured, heritage pig bacon. Right?
Make this. And avoid deserted underpasses. Unless dessert is involved. Like pumpkin pie. Or in this case, simply pumpkins. Because all good things lead to those. Especially now. At the end of Summer, the beginning of Fall and whatever this place is called where we find ourselves in-between the seasons.
Do you ever get yourself into precarious situations? How’s your sense of direction? What are you loving about the seasons right now? Any fixation disorders I should be aware of? Are you enjoying or loathing pumpkin right now? Spill it!
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