lummi island

I'm typing away here on the couch this morning and breakfast is being cooked for me today.  Country potatoes and chorizo scrambled eggs.  Sounds delish, right?  I'm stoked on the menu but a little bummed that I've been temporarily banned from the kitchen.  If you caught my last post, you'll remember that I sliced the tip of my thumb off at work the other day.  It's healing nicely and doesn't hurt too much as long as I don't slam it into anything (it's happened twice so far).  Even so, I'm discouraged from picking up any knives at the moment or turning on the stove.  I've also been reassured that if I should dare to take sponge to dirty dish, there will be hell to pay.

So my sweetheart is cooking breakfast today. 

Since I'm banished to the living room today, I thought I'd post up some photos and memories from my new favorite spot here in Washington.  It's a tiny island in Puget Sound known as Lummi, after the native tribe that inhabits the area.  Our friend Mo built himself a house in the woods on the island and is happy to have us come up and stay for long weekends.

It's an amazing getaway.

white chicken enchiladas

As I sit down to type this post, a bright blue bandaid covers the tip of my left thumb.  One of those 'fingertip' bandages that didn't exist when I was a kid in constant need of taping up, but has since been the brain child of someone wishing to specialize in bandages for different body parts.  Have you ever used a fingertip bandage?  On first inspection, it looks like an instructional video might be a requirement to work it.  In the case of this particular first aid situation, we found that the bandages stick quite forcefully to themselves but not so well to the skin for which they are meant to protect.  And then there's the color. Puts the entire smurf race to shame.

This bandage went onto said thumb this afternoon when I arrived home from work, having left early.  Leaving early from work happened after an hour of trying to make the bleeding stop, paper towels stained with blood, hand held above the heart.  There was a definite increase in expletive use.  The f-bomb was dropped repeatedly, and the lord may need to change his name at this point, due to an overwhelming use of it in vain.  All of this happened after I succeeded in cutting the tip of my thumb off with a chef's knife while prepping food for my coworkers.

Part of the nail is gone.

Sigh...

So this day has been stressful.  What do I do when I'm stressed?  The same thing that millions of other women living in the developed world do when emotions run high, patience is in short supply, and somebody might get roundhouse kicked Chuck Norris style if I don't get something edible in the next 35 seconds.  I eat.  A lot.

short ribs worth dying for

In my last post, I gave you a preview of some recipes I promised to share with you in the new year.  I saved my favorite for last in that post, but I've since decided that it would be in your best interest to have the recipe immediately.  I won't be offended if you skim or even skip entirely the relative BS that follows in order to get cooking that much faster.  My words aren't nearly as good as the food they describe.

I feel like I can't just start this by telling you about the short ribs (I told you there was some BS on the way). There's more to the story than that, so I guess I'll start from the beginning.

You see, the short ribs were born from my investment in a new piece of cookware.  Yes, I said new.  As in shiny, unused, fresh-from-the-box, new.  Brand spankin', if you will.  For those of you wondering what the big deal is, I'll give you some insight.  I'm a Goodwill Girl.  A solid 90% of the money I spend, outside of the supermarket, goes to second hand stores. Clothes, books, movies, cookware... most of it comes from thrift stores. I should own stock in Value Village.