I have a feeling that none of you would be my friend in real life if:
#1 You could hear the voice I use when speaking to Amelia. We all have animal voices. Mine is just REALLY bad. And strangely enough, it’s gets more grating the more tired I get.
#2 You could see me (sometimes!) reach into my dirty hamper and take out dirty socks and put them on my clean feet because ‘they’re not that dirty and I like black socks to match my black Nikes.
#3 You could see how many dishes I dirty when making simple things like a salad, lettuce cups or coffee. ‘Working clean’ is for fancy chefs or people who are more organized in their brains than me.
#4 You could see how many times I open the fridge/freezer, take a swig of something and then return it (versus, you know, pouring myself a glass). But really, I live with only one other person and we make out all the time so it’s totally fine if I double-dip, right…
And now, hummus.
This hummus is a labor of love. I’m afraid that you’ll hate me because of this hummus recipe. I’ve made a super simple thing kind of more complicated but I think it’s worth it so please hear me out. Please!
This recipe starts with shucking a bunch of peas, which I honestly like doing. There’s something about repeating the same motion over and over that is soothing.
And then, I juiced the jackets! Whaaa! If you don’t have a juicer, you can totally skip this step, but I wanted the hummus to be as green as possible and I love the notion of waste not want not.
I wonder when I’ll stop thinking it’s awesome that I can tweet, check Facebook and blog from 10,000 feet in the air. I hope never because this airplane internet technology makes me feel cool.
I’m currently flying across the country, working my way back to my lil’ corgi after a very short trip to New York City. Whenever I’m in that city, it not-so-gently reminds me how much of a New Yorker I am not. The thirty-degree winds make the skin on my face hurt. The subway system still confuses me. And never has a city made me feel like I’m too smiley for my own good.
But New York is also the city where pink refrigerators live on the sidewalks, it’s the home to epic restaurants and bars that are so cozy and warm, you find yourself there until 4am, talking away with one of your best friends. It’s a magical city. I hope that at some point in my life I can call home, at least for a little while.
Welcome to project: Adrianna & Peas Fresh Peas: A Love Story.
I was a picky eater as a child. I think that’s normal, right?
I wasn’t nearly as picky as my friends, though. I knew kids who couldn’t have their foods touch. Like, their parents would have to make sure the mashed potatoes didn’t touch the carrots and the carrots didn’t touch the roast chicken and the roast chicken didn’t touch the mashed potatoes. You get it…
I like to think–as a parent–I’d put my foot down and tell my child to stop acting like a such a psycho, but I dunno, I think sometimes parents just want peace and quiet.
In my seven-year old brain, peas were totally tantrum worthy. I got super psycho over peas on my plate. Oh and I let my mama know! Whenever the poor woman would put peas in a dish, I’d do one of those passive aggressive flip-outs and just pick every. single. one. out. A small mound of them would end up on the edge of my plate. I was sending a message. A very strong one, you know?
I’ve gone my whole life disliking peas, picking them out of various stews, hating how chicken pot pies ALWAYS include them, and completely dismissing dishes highlighted them. But, I now realize I actually don’t hate peas. I just dislike the starchy, frozen, gross peas. I don’t like them mushy. And I don’t like them overcooked and olive-colored.
I like my peas fresh, brilliantly green. I like ’em perky, straight from the pod.