Another delightful story and recipe from the Rabbit Patch, thank you, Michele. xo
Some of my favorite hours have always been in the kitchen. As a small child, I spent a good deal of my childhood in fields and woods. If I wasn’t there, I was probably playing in a barn . . .If I was in the house, I was most likely in the kitchen.
The women in my family cooked. In those days, processed food was in its’ early stages. I never saw things like “instant potatoes”, cake mixes and “Hamburger Helper”. Of course, this meant someone was usually in the kitchen . . . peeling potatoes, often.
The yellow and chrome kitchen table, in my grandmamas’ house, was the best place I knew of to tell secrets or to solve a mystery. I also could count on someone being in the kitchen, in the circumstances of bee stings and skinned knees-or when I couldn’t button a dolls’ dress. “The…
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