I haven’t made much that’s recipe-share-worthy in ages, friends.
Lest you be ridiculously disappointed with me, in my own defense? Our kitchen is still only half unpacked, which means Spencer and I are looking at each other with befuddled expressions searching for spoons or meat thermometers or butter at least once a night. I mean, we have the basics covered; the fridge is stocked with diet soda, I have plenty of chips and salsa, and Spence and I haven’t resorted to arm-wrestling for the last of my grandmother’s homemade peanut butter cups from a recent birthday party.
But dinners around here? A little sparse. Simple. Full of fresh vegetables, which is certainly not a bad thing — but I do miss having more at my disposal. Much like before the move, we’re all about streamlined eating around here . . . and though I’m optimistic that we’ll repair our…
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