Guys, I’m real sad. Summer is almost over! *insert sad face emoji* Where did the summer go? It feels like yesterday I had just turned in my last final exam. But it’s almost football and hoodie-wearing season and that makes me pretty excited. Tailgating and bonfires, sweaters and warm apple cider, and pumpkin flavored everything. Speaking of tailgates, I have the perfect recipe for one! This slow cooker pulled pork has a secret ingredient: root beer. A few weeks back I photographed the Homer Soda festival. One of the soda judges at the festival was FiveStarSoda. We didn’t have the chance to meet up which bummed me out. So I sent him a DM via Instagram seeing if he wanted to collaborate and the rest is history. On FiveStarSoda’s site, you are going to find a soda review for Capt’n Eli Root Beer. When you’re done reading this post, head on over there and tell him TK sent you.
There is something so peaceful about a mid-summers day. The cooling breeze passing wafts of BBQ smoke through the air. The remains of used smoke bombs and sparklers scattered across the ground. Containers of half eaten potato salad and charred hamburgers and hotdogs fill the fridge up to the brim. We replace our red, white, and blues for the coming autumnal season full of yellows, oranges, and browns. This time is year is where we get to chance to breath before venturing into the second half of the year. And just to think the holiday season starts in less than 3 months.
I hope you all had a wonderful 4th of July! And if you’re not from America, I hope you had a jolly day nonetheless. The family and I did as little as possible for our 4th of July. The only exciting part of our day was going to a friend’s cookout to watch some fireworks. Our family friends live out in the country, so you can stretch out in a lawn chair and watch multiple township’s fireworks shows at once! Kind of cool I think (makes me miss living in the country). In great food blogging fashion, I brought Mississippi mud pie for the occasion. The glorious culinary invention that is mud pie is essentially a chocolate lover’s paradise. It’s a chocolate Oreo crust, a chocolate cake layer, a chocolate pudding layer, and then whipped cream on top! I am obsessed!! I hope to make it again and write up post about it. #soon
Until a couple weekends ago, I didn’t know that gooseberries even existed. I know, super-terrible-bad food blogger of me, but I digress. I was at my local farmer’s market when I stumbled across a booth with these round, green berries in turquoise blue containers. At first glance, they appeared to be perfectly spherical grapes or realllly tiny melons. Whatever they looked like, I was intrigued. I was curious as to what these little green gems could be used for. Asking Momma Crawford, she told of one of her aunts who used to make a gooseberry pie with mounds of sugar to help combat the tartness of the berries. A pie sounded delicious, but I knew exactly what I was going to do with these gooseberries and that was to make a crumble.
I am really excited about this recipe, not because it’s of a pound cake (my favorite type of cake) or the fact that it’s been turned into a parfait, rather because it’s a family recipe. This butternut pound cake belonged to my Grandma Crawford. Growing up, Father would tell of friends and family members coming to the door with ingredients in hand, begging Grandma Crawford to make them her cake. I’m lucky enough to have two incredible bakers on both sides of my family. My Grandma Cooley was known for her pies and breads, along with her spaghetti and meatballs, and my Grandma Crawford was known for her cakes. That may explain why I have an obsession with all three!
So I have a berry exciting post for you this week! I am finally able to share shots from my time photographing the Homer Soda Fest this year. I had such an amazing time trying all the sodas and capturing moments from the day’s events. Even through the raindrops, it turned out to be a beautiful day full of great food and refreshing sodas. In that day of photographing, I learn a lot about festival photography and I now have a new found appreciate for that style of shooting. I hope to do more in the coming years. Are you ready to see to photos? Let’s dive in, shall we?
I’m back, with a recipe and two exciting pieces of news. If you follow me (on any form of social media for that matter) you’ll know that I am absolutely terrible at updating people on what is happening in my life. It’s half me forgetting to and half contemplating if there is anything of importance worth sharing. What I do want to share is that I’ve been thinking (now that’s a scary thought!) a lot about the blog and where I want to see it go in the coming months. My goal is to expand upon it. I hope to go from a sole “food blog” and evolve it into a more “lifestyle blog”, with posts on photography, writing, style, behind the scenes, travels, reviews, videos, and etc. Will that ever happen? Frankly, whose to say. I’m not entirely sure what I want to do! I’m just a twenty-something with big dreams and a little blog. When I know, I will probably forget to tell you.
I love biscuits. You know the type, the ones you can only find in that hole-in-the-wall, backroad diner somewhere deep in the heart of the South. A place where the cookin’ is good and the waitress refers to everyone as “honeychile”. I love those kind of biscuits with their golden tops and buttery layers. Pulling them apart releases a steady trail of steam that ascends upwards. A heaping spread of jam or apple butter layered gracefully over each piece and you have got yourself a mighty fine breakfast. There is something so rustic and beautiful about a homemade biscuit. Growing up, it was one rare occasion Momma Crawford would make biscuits homemade (Father prefers the store bought kind. I know, he’s crazy!) But when she did…oh momma YES!
Recently I’ve been grappling with the idea of weakness. Weakness. Just looking at the word feels like daggers are digging deep into my chest. A taboo term we don’t like to throw around the table unless the term is aimed towards ourselves, then it’s greeted as if it’s an old friend. Why is it that we find the weakest person to be ourselves? It’s because we know ourselves all too well. I am the only person in the world who knows every single facet and aspect of my singular existence. I know all my strengths and weaknesses. I can pick out each and every imperfection and scrutinize it piece by piece. As of lately, though, I have noticed myself evaluating my self-worth by the number of times I hadn’t failed on a given day. For some reason, I have been determining my happiness on the basis of how many times I do or do not stutter. That, my friend, is a dangerous game to play.