Pickled Strawberries, Phantom Roommate Syndrome, and Pleasing Others

Pickled Strawberries

I am in no position to beg for forgiveness regarding my absence with this blog. Naturally my apologies to my two faithful readers.

Let me see if I can catch you two up. 

In the last three months I have gained no ground on how to boil water on an electric stove top. I am 1000% convinced that they are the Devil’s work. Oddly, I have learned how to fry an egg on an electric stove top. It takes me more than twice as long as it did on a Heavenly blessed gas range, but still, I can fry an egg again.

In the last three months I have explored my vast new surroundings (read: the five square blocks that make up my new downtown living situation). There are wonderful fish tacos at King’s Crab Shack. Amazing wings and pizza at Ronni’s Restaurant. There is hardly anything Irish about the Irish bar down the street. And the dark horse winner is the oddly hipster bar around the corner that seats maybe 10 and has absolutely no online presence. One night I had to actually walk over there to see if they were open.

I have had to ban Pimento Cheese from my home. I have found a new love of air conditioning (Captain Planet will not be happy with me). And I have learned the difference between “y’all” and “all y’all”. 

Also I have slowly found my way back into my kitchen.

Though still suffering from phantom roommate syndrome (I am sure this is real even if it’s not on webMD) I am learning what it means to cook for one. By “cook for one” I mean I still cook for the roommate I don’t have and then I freeze the rest. My freezer has become a cook’s nightmare. 

Thanks to the cast of characters that I have met in my new Melrose Place of an apartment building I have been able to pawn off some of my baked goods. 

Most recently I found myself in possession of a flat of strawberries. And after learning that the good folks of North Carolina do not look kindly upon rhubarb I had to compromise my plans of pies and jams. Thankfully the latest copy of Southern Living arrived and suggested pickling my fruit. Which oddly sounds like a euphemism for a man in a cold pool. 

So with some pound cake, vanilla ice cream topped with pickled strawberries I fed some neighbors and filled a void. Then kindly edged the last of them out of my home by 930 because I am old and needed to catch up on my stories on the TV. 


Inspired by Southern Living Magazine but with modifications

Until next time. 

And know that bullying clearly works because I wouldn’t have done this without threat. Thank you Tami Two. You would be Tami Number One Fan but my mother is Number One.