Hitting the Sauce

There is something wrong with me; I can’t put my finger on it, but I’m pretty sure it’s one of three things: hormone imbalance, undiagnosed nervous disorder or demonic possession. Well – maybe not demonic; is it possible to be possessed by Martha Stewart? Obviously she’s still very much among the living, and living well, but perhaps her Chambray and khaki clad spirit makes spiritual house calls? A little celestial check-in with the most dire of domestically impaired souls?

As I’ve Babbled – we have a garden this year. A big, honking, thriving garden; good for me, right? Sure, until you have more flipping produce than one family and hordes of neighbors can eat.

My oldest son helped me pick tomatoes yesterday.

Me: “Where are the Joads’ when you need them?”
Him: “Country music blows.”
Me: ???
Him: “The ones with the crazy red hair.”
Me: Light dawns. “Those are the Judd’s; didn’t you read the Grapes of Wrath last year for English?”
Him: “Oh that, yeah – boring.”

If you can’t text it, forget it; my apologies Mr. Steinbeck.

Post veggie pluck, the Martha possession took hold; I gathered tomatoes, garlic, herbs and wine (some for the pot –some for me) and made sauce!

Oh, but wait…the madness did not stop there. After a quick check in with my buddy foodnetwork.com, I had recipes for pickles, pesto (for the ginormous man eating basil), and my personal favorite – homemade chicken stock: comprised of the multiplying rosemary, parsley and freezer burned chicken I’ve been meaning to toss. (Note: If you make chicken stock – (idiot proof) – be warned –  filled, the jars look eerily similar to doctor’s office specimens, label appropriately.)

Happy canning! And if anyone has suggestions for spearmint – I’d love to hear it! How hard is it to make toothpaste?

Dear Lord: someone stop me!

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