Ho-hum and La-dee-dah…
I have been uninspired lately. Hey, it happens to the best of us (at least that is what I keep telling myself). Maybe it has been this unseasonably warm weather. This August-like heat and humidity in October (yes, October!) has me all confused. Do I grill a piece of fish and just pretend it’s summer, or do I toil over a pot of stew and just say, “Warm weather, be damned! Bring on the fall already!”
I have turned into one of those wishy-washy shoppers for which I normally have little patience. You know the ones, standing in the middle of the produce aisle of the market, not a clue as to what to bring home with them, deliberating, while their cart stands empty and nowhere near them. The broccoli or the fennel? No, the carrots or the tomatoes? Usually I sigh [...]

I’m usually not the biggest pepper fan, roasted they can become too slick and flimsy, and raw sometimes they are simply too pungent. But when I spotted these little peppers, sold for $1 a bag on a street near work, I grew nostalgic. So humor me while I take you on a journey through Nosheteria nostalgia.
My longtime readers know that I am married. I’ve been married to Brian for only a hair longer than the time I’ve had this blog. But Brian has actually been in existence for much longer than Nosheteria; before he was my husband, he was my forever boyfriend. Not high school sweethearts (considering our age difference of six years, that would have been sick and wrong), but we did meet while I was still in college.
I graduated and stuck around while Brian went back to graduate school. Years passed, anniversaries [...]

I’m sure that every family must have them– those old, tattered recipes for dishes that are so entrenched in family lore it becomes difficult to decipher where the recipe actually came from. A pot of soup, a batch of cookies, or in this case, a one pot supper, that went by the incorrect name of pajama chicken for years.
Pajama chicken sounds quaint to a child’s ears. And to my young ears I figured that this dish was to be enjoyed languishing on a Sunday afternoon in your favorite footsie pj’s– hence the name. But pajama, said quickly in passing, also sounds like Bahama. And Bahama chicken, which I found out years later, was actually the name of this Americanized dish of stewed chicken served over tomato rice and accented with black-eyed peas.
While my grandmother made this dish all the time, I actually have Roxie Roker, television [...]