Skip to main content

A Peasant's Kitchen

kitch-en:  a room or area where food is cooked
(Free Online Dictionary)

I'm a person who enjoys spending time in my kitchen...trying new recipes, experimenting with ones that I've fixed dozens of times.  The kitchen is a place of hospitality.  It's a way of life. 

Recently, I've had conversations where friends have mentioned being in a slump when it comes to meal preparation.  Maybe it's because we are in one of the "change-over" seasons or perhaps fresh inspiration is needed.  The peasant's kitchen was one that utilized what was in the pantry, or could be garnered from the countryside or potager's garden.  With these simple thoughts in mind, here is what we are having for supper tonight...perhaps it will get you on the road to creative cookery.

Pasta with Pan Roasted Corn, Peppers and Salmon

2 cups frozen petite corn
2 cups sliced bell peppers (red, yellow, green mixture)
1 red onion, sliced
3 cloves minced garlic
salt and pepper to taste
red pepper flakes (optional)
1/2 cup coarsely chopped parsley

Saute these ingredients in 2 tablespoons of olive oil, until slightly caramelized.  Add one 6.5oz can of Alaskan salmon.  (Note:  I used a garlic/pepper salmon)

Cook 8oz of pasta (farfelle, casaresse - something small and twisty) in a pot of boiling, salted water.

Toss cooked pasta with the corn-salmon mixture.  Drizzle with olive oil, add chopped parsley and adjust seasonings.

4 servings

Along with the pasta, I'm serving roasted Brussel Sprouts and a simple salad of baby romaine with oil, vinegar, salt and fresh cracked pepper.

Mangia!  Missy

Comments

  1. Sounds utteryly delightful..think I will try it Friday..

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thanks! I'm sure you will enjoy the pasta ... we sure did!

      Delete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

lonely has no boundaries

She came into the shop to purchase barbecue sauce, usually 3 to 4 bottles at a time. Her eyes were clear blue, and she had a ready smile that was mixed with quietness and melancholy.
I remember one particular day she came in with eyes red around the edges. I asked if everything was ok. She looked at me with her clear blue eyes and said, "Yes, but there are days you just need to cry." I agreed then, and I agree now.

Today is one of those melancholy days; not a need-to-cry day, but one that's on the side of sad and contemplative. So, it seems appropriate to share this post that's been sitting as a draft for weeks.

People are lonely, desperately crying to be noticed.
I've been lonely. I've had conversations with people who are lonely. The unfortunate thing is, it's not the outcast, recluse living in the hoarder house down the street. It's the chipper girl at the coffee shop who only wants another couple for her and her boyfriend to hang with. I think to m…

a tale from foxtail

fox glides, low to the ground                       sly, inquisitive, resourceful creatures solitary, bronzed and ruddy with flashing eyes        bushy tail dipped in white  forest home or urban domain                                      fox, a nocturnal pilgrim
Summer has afforded me an opportunity to move about aimlessly; not quite a coddiwomple, but sort of. This week, I found myself writing and sipping iced chai at Foxtail Bakery. Let's just say the cookies were perfect and divine; I was completely tempted to purchase more pastries than I should. 

There's a tall counter with white-backed stools and a big garage door to let in light and fresh air. Picture windows face the street. Cars buzz by. Black and white striped umbrellas twirl like the tutu of a ballerina.

Assorted tables and chairs in turquoise and orange fill the space, along with a low-slung wooden table and bistro chairs. Some new-school rattan is thrown in for good measure. It's comfortable and alive.


A larger-tha…

leaving las vegas

Leaving Las Vegas, a line made famous in movies, song lyrics and billboard slogans. For me, it’s more than a catch-phrase. It pierces my heart, now more than ever.

You see, previously, people were there drawing me back, but as pages are torn from the book entitled “Life,” I’m more aware of how fleeting and transient things are. Change is a given.
My heart feels - each word expressed - come back, don’t be a stranger. I know they’re wondering if they’re losing all contact with the family of ones deeply loved. I wonder, too. And while I also know that’s how things happen, I don’t have to like it.

So, I stare out the window of the plane, the sun bringing light and heat to the day in shades of pink and pale orange which burst against the blue sky. My thoughts are pensive, questioning, seeing only the rugged ranges with striations of soil and color veining them. As the plane climbs we soar above the clouds stacked on each other like mounds of whipped sweet cream. Contemplation is as thick as…