The layers are perfectly light and crispy, with plenty of separation between the top ones; so much so that it was hard to cut the strudel without crispy pieces falling off. And the taste? Absolutely delicious.
The thing about owning a house is that there is always a myriad of little things that need to be done to it. And when you own an older house, or a house that has a history, that list can grow even longer.
If I’d been wearing hiking boots, I can pretty much guarantee this entry would have less of “how hard is it for a hotel to give me a damn wake-up call for crying out loud” and instead be an amusing anecdote of How Jennifer Fell Down a Hill and Broke Something.
Eventually, two extremely leafy, sturdy stalks started coming through, and since they’re both in about the right spots, and they’re identical, and they don’t match any of the other weeds in the yard, I am making the assumption that they are potatoes. We may be in for a surprise a few months down the road, but in the meantime we are carefully watering them and hoping for the best.
I’m also trying to become ever so slightly more ambidextrous, but this is not as easy as one might think. I’ve spent nearly 40 years being quite decidedly right-handed, and my brain is fiercely resistant to change in that department.
They are small and sweet and incredibly delicious, and the very best part about them is that, because Richard is not a fan of raw carrots, they are all *mine*.
And as for what’s going on in the rest of the country, and the rest of the world, well, let’s just say that at this point, I pretty much have that whole Jonathan Coulton CD memorized now, and we’ll just leave it at that.
Because right now, the most important thing of all to write about is the way the sun is rising across this great big beautiful country of mine, and how a brand new day is dawning, and how so many people around the world are filled with such an over abundance of hope that we have not felt in a very very long time.
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