I don't know why I try to cook. It always turns into a last minute dash- that stressful time you see on those fun chef wannabe shows where everything has to come together in 5 minutes and you are 7 minutes behind. That's the story of my life right now.
It was a rainy day and I have a great pumpkin soup recipe from my cousin that involves some really yummy black turtle beans grown organically at her farm called Breakneck Acres. Now pumpkin items can go either way in this house, but I am going to give it a go in the spirit of rain and fall and insanity.
I give myself plenty of time and allow the soup to simmer. And simmer. And simmer. I am about to heap it into bowls when I realize it's missing something- the last minute lime zest and juice the recipe calls for. I grab my limess and begin to zest one right into the pot. I am zesting, I am zesting. My zesting gets away from me and the little green orb loterally is zested right into the pot. Shit, I whisper under my breath and reach for the ladle. Mom! Phillip scolds me, then I feel a little hand patting my back.
"It's Ok mommy, Bless you." I am blessed indeed- Bella will probably spend the rest of her life wondering why I sneeze so much in the kitchen. Someday I will tell her- it's the limes.