I finally finished Cyan's new kitchen. Her old one I made her broke last summer (it did last over two years with my kids though... I think of that as a craft project success. lol!) This one was left in the garage for a few months while I was pregnant and some of the board warped. Which was a pain to deal with, but I think it worked out in the end. I have a few tiny things left to do... I need to hem the curtian higher and I need to stain the entire thing with Linseed Oil so it will last if I put it somewhere to store it. But she loves it and is havn't a blast with it so far. We have had many a carpet picnic so far via Cyan's wooden culinary brilliance.
This yummy piece of goodness was made from the roast chicken we had for dinner last night, some organic mesclin greens, a fresh tomato, cilantro, cream cheese, provalone, and a few small slices of chedder. All rolled up inside a flour tortilla. YUM!
1 cup dried black beans (soaked, cooked and drained)
2 cans drained black beans
2 cups water
Saute the garlic and onion in the oil.
Add the other ingredients and let boil for 10 minutes
or until consistancy is right for you.
Add sea salt to taste after it has been reduced.
It was so good even Cyan ate it. It was also just enough for 2 adults or 1 adult and two kids, so double if you have more. I served this with Provalone cheese broiled on tiny french loaves and a spinich salad with italian dressing.
Overnight, very whitely, discreetly,very quietly Our toes, our noses take hold on the loam,
Acquire the air. Nobody sees us, stops us, betrays us; The small grains make room. Soft fists insist on heaving the needles, The leafy bedding, even the paving. Our hammers, our rams, Earless and eyeless, perfectly voiceless, Widen the crannies, shoulder through holes. We diet on water, on crumbs of shadow, Bland-mannered, asking little or nothing. So many of us! So many of us! We are shelves, weare tables,
we are meek, we are edible, Nudgers and shovers, in spite of ourselves. Our kind multiplies:
We shall by morning inherit the earth. Our foot's in the door. ~Sylvia Plath