In Like A Lion
Our two bee hives that lasted the winter have spent most of March booming. The bees have come back to their hives every day looking like they're sporting bad, 1980's shoulder pads.
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Look at the pollen baskets on HER! |
(bottom right corner) |
What was even more surprising was when I noticed that the occasional bee was coming back with pollen that was blue:
(see to the left of the yellow spots?) |
Or not.
As much as the bees fascinated me, I couldn't spend ALL month watching them. Queen Martha and I had work to do.
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Martha's slice-and-bake crackers |
My version was only slightly-less photo-worthy than Martha's:
Something tells me I skipped a stepped. The crumbles were delicious, though.
I had more luck with the Bruleed Winter Bean Soup:
The only problem with it is that Martha, apparently, likes kale A LOT more than do I; Bee and I were practically chocking on the stuff (or perhaps I ought to have chopped it smaller, as Martha suggested, and not have used a freezer-burned chunk from last summer?).
Bee and I only got in one argument while I was preparing this dish: I thought it would be ready in about 30 minutes and he insisted it would be over an hour. Martha did say is would be 60 minutes, but Martha, apparently, doesn't own the Vidalia Chop Wizard . . .
. . . I was done in 45.
Since my crackers did not turn out so well, I did a bonus recipe two days ago - Sauteed Mushrooms With Toasted Flatbread and Baked Eggs:
If you like mushrooms, like I do, it was really quite good. And the bonus was that, despite not liking mushrooms, Bee stayed out of the kitchen and let me do my thing, and didn't trash the end result after trying a bite and retiring with his bowl of spaghetti.
I tried a few non-Martha-sanctioned recipes, too. Some were flops:
"Eggs Mimosa" - filled with avocado mix (hmm; they looked better in the cookbook's picture) |
Some were triumphs:
Deep and Dark Ganache Cake (but it's hard to screw up chocolate) |
obsessing over Cub Scout activities . . .
at the zoo |
. . . and making "welcome" signs for our front gate:
(Bee, who detests glitter, is absolutely horrified by this last turn of events.)
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