Now we’re cooking.
The smells are causing Maggie to edge ever closer, away from her soft mat, nose twitching. When I knocked over the cinnamon and it spilled out onto a printed recipe page, she was on her feet and at mine, investigating at close range the enticing aromas of scallions, chopped almonds, chopped dried apricots, a Granny Smith apple, and cinnamon, all sauteeing in butter. This seductive mixture will be folded into a saffron, onion and garlic laden basmati pilaf, baking in the oven right now.
Whole sweet potatoes have been scrubbed and are ready to bake.
Our friend Harold just came by for some coffee and to bring me a fresh bunch of collard greens from his garden.