I know, I know, it's been too long since we last talked even though I've a great bone-chilling excuse (at least to me) why I've been so quiet. This numbing, frigid, glacial climate I live in, has congealed my brain power and has just recently started to slowly thaw out. I attended some of the St. Paul winter carnival festivities to try and knock some of the ice crystals loose in my head and get my creative juices flowing again but no such luck. All I came up with is the picture below of a food vendor hawking one of Minnesota's legendary culinary gifts to the world, not very inspiring to the muse within (she's a fussy little thing). Now, don't start wagging your finger at me before I explain. I grew up on hot-dish, a.k.a. casserole for those of you who are fortunate to live outside of the tundra's permafrost line.
However, after spending my formative years eating numerous versions of my mother's take on this regional classic: hamburger hot-dish, chicken hot-dish, Chinese hot-dish, pork hot-dish, spaghetti hot-dish and the one and only, tuna hot-dish (just make sure the cat isn't around for this one), I've moved on in my desire to eat mounds of mushy, over-cooked ingredients stuffed into a pyrex dish and baked in an oven as hot as a kiln until it looks like an art project for a beginner's pottery class.
|Belongs on Bizarre Foods with Andrew Zimmern?|
Time to go, I think I hear snow melting,